


Cat and Mouse

by jilliancares



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Superheroes, Supervillains, kind of, superhero x supervillain, you'll see!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-10-25 04:47:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 57,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10757007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jilliancares/pseuds/jilliancares
Summary: Dan Howell is the Panther. He's evil, nefarious, ingenious, and good at coming up with adjectives for himself. The Raven is a nuisance, but he's definitely the most fun part when it comes to being a villain. As a child, Dan had been scared of his powers. He'd been weak. He'd become strong, though. Strong enough to torment the city; strong enough to annoy the Raven with every opportunity he got.Phil Lester only had one goal these days. To become strong enough to defeat the Panther.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys this is my new chaptered fic! i'm really excited about it and i hope you all are too! :D
> 
> i'll warn you before chapters if i feel like there's anything big/trigger-y happening, and i hope you enjoy! i update every saturday so you can expect new chapters from me then :]

Dan picked fastidiously at his nail, barely bothering to glance up and survey his surroundings. The waiting part was definitely less entertaining, and he was disappointed to say that this was taking longer than usual. With a sigh, he settled onto the edge of the roof, letting his legs dangle precariously over the edge. He leaned back on one hand, using the other to rub at the skin of his cheek just under his mask—sometimes the fabric scratched his cheeks and left red marks behind, which wasn't really good for helping to keep his identity hidden.

With an annoyed huff, Dan leaned further over the edge of the building, letting his weight carry him further and further, until he was just barely balancing on the edge. He briefly entertained the thought of letting himself fall—and with it, the thought of not activating his gear—but refrained from doing so. He had more entertaining evening plans.

Far below, a man loitered in front of the building, occasionally pacing a few steps in one direction and then another. He tapped his foot, appearing impatient. Dan couldn't help it—sometimes his own emotions interfered. And he _did_  feel impatient; he'd been waiting for almost ten minutes now.

Almost as soon as he thought this, there was a change in the atmosphere. It was subtle, and Dan doubted whether anyone besides himself would've noticed it, but it was definitely there. Dan blinked slowly, his contacts settling easily into place and changing the outlook of his entire surroundings. They were nifty things, able to make him see in the dark as easily as if he were a cat—which was kind of the point. And it was only due to his aesthetic that he'd made them look like cat eyes as well, the pupils thin and slitted.

With them, everything was focused into a much sharper clarity, and Dan almost wished it was a new moon tonight. There was nothing so great as being able to see all of his surroundings while the Raven stumbled to and fro, unable to see so much as Dan's fist connecting with his face.

By closing his eyes, Dan's sense of hearing intensified, everything around him becoming sharp points of focus. It was thanks to his mask, and the enhanced features the cat ears contained, but it felt as much apart of him that Dan felt an acute sense of loss when he wasn't wearing it, when he couldn't comfortably hear what was happening on the other side of the room.

Now, he heard the soft murmur of voices on the street below, and the thrum of cars passing by. Far away, a car honked, and another one returned the greeting, its sound higher pitched. Closer, Dan could hear a rodent of some kind—how it got onto the roof of the building, Dan didn't want to know—scuffling over the metal of the roof, its nails clicking distinctly. Finally, he focused on what was really drawing his attention, what he'd deliberately saved for last. Carefully, quietly—though not quite enough—two human sized feet eased their way across the roof, coming closer and closer to Dan.

 _Finally_ , he thought irritably. _Took you fucking long enough._

The careful footsteps continued on their way, and Dan let them. Though really, hadn't Raven's mother ever told him it wasn't polite to sneak up on your arch nemesis?

"You should be thanking me," Raven's voice drawled, and Dan felt his lips pull into a smirk. He'd been /waiting/ for this. It was as if his body finally activated when Raven was around, his blood pumping, his senses coming alive.

"And why is that?" Dan drawled. He leaned back on his hands again now, tipping his head backward to look at the other man. He was taller than Dan, that was for sure—not that it was a difficult feat. Dan had long since become acquainted with his height, however, and it only helped his image. _The Panther,_  he thought. _Small. Lithe. Unarguably evil._

Raven looked as angry and righteous as ever. Dan knew that his blatant refusal to get angry, to ever appear like he was trying, infuriated the Raven to no end. And so Dan amped up his act, especially for him. Dan imagined he would do anything for the Raven; anything to keep him coming back, anyway. He was dressed in his signature outfit, his mask slightly pointed, as if to imitate a beak. He might as well have gone all the way, like Dan had. Cat ears and everything!

Raven's cape sufficed as wings, Dan knew, invented by the very man who wore it. He was beyond creative, Dan had to give it to him—and a genius too. He was always creating gadgets to fuck up Dan's plans.

"Because I could've kicked you off the roof," Raven finally answered, and Dan raised an eyebrow, though the expression was obscured by his mask.

"Doesn't that go against all your like, superhero morals?" Dan questioned. "Besides, I would've been fine." It was true, Dan's own outfit was made of a special kind of material that assured he wouldn’t be harmed, even if he were to fall a very, very long way. More important though was its ability to make him land on his feet—and from there he could start running.

"You're incredibly lax for a villain," Raven commented. This idle chit-chat was fine with Dan. In fact, he was depending on it.

"Am I?"

"You didn't even know I was here," the Raven said confidently. _See, that's where you’re wrong._

Dan hummed. "Well, yes, that's what you think."

Raven scoffed. "You're just trying to cover up for your own inattentiveness."

"Perhaps," Dan answered. "Or perhaps I knew you were here the second your rubber-soled shoes squeaked onto the roof. Perhaps I knew exactly where you would stand. Perhaps it'd be a good idea for you to not stand where you are for much longer."

Dan closed his eyes, a feral grin gracing his lips as he heard Raven's heart pounding away. Typical.

 _Move, Raven,_  he urged silently. _Move. Move_.

He felt his connection with one of the men below the building tugging at him. Whilst the Raven had chattered away, more of Dan's subjects had gathered beneath the building. Now, he suspected, they weren't waiting around impatiently. They probably looked excited, maybe mischievous. Maybe murderous.

_"Press it at 9:30,” Dan had instructed, pressing a small button into the man's hands. His eyes had glossed over slightly—he'd looked dazed—but he'd nodded obediently. "And stand below the building on the corner of Marx's Street," he'd added. And then tilted his head slightly. "Actually, press it at a quarter til. The Raven had a knack for being late."_

_Move, Raven,_  Dan thought. _Or it'll be too late._

He knew already that if the Raven didn't move he'd be forced to save him. Most of Dan's fun originated from the Raven, and Dan didn't quite know what his purpose would be without the other man.

He lifted his wrist up before his eyes, staring at the face of his watch. It was black with silver lines along the side to mark the hours. 9:44. In the watch, he looked at the reflection of Raven, stood still with indecision. He'd already wasted an entire minute trying to decide whether Dan was bluffing.

Dan watched as the seconds ticked away on his watch. He glared. Was he really going to have to save Raven?

As the seconds eased down to five, Dan tensed, ready to spring to his feet and shove the Raven out of the way.

Suddenly, Raven sprang, leaping into the air and taking a quick step towards Dan, before perching on the ledge beside him, the wind making his cape billow out over the lengthy drop. And not a moment too soon.

Just then, in the exact spot the Raven had been standing (which had taken a lot of calculations and guesswork on Dan's part), the flooring disappeared, falling, Dan knew, for several stories. That part of the roof was located directly overtop a large stairwell, and he would've fallen the whole way down, his cape-wings too large to expand in that small space.

"See, Raven?" Dan said, and he glanced up at the Raven with a soft smile. "Don't say I never warn you."

The Raven's mouth was pulled into a sharp line, his displeasure evident through that facial feature alone. Dan didn't blame him. His mind was probably whirring, trying desperately to understand how Dan could've planned that out ahead of time. In reality it was probably just hard for Raven to believe that anyone might possibly be as smart as he was. Sure, Dan wasn't quite as skilled at inventing things, but he was great at plans. He'd gotten straight A's his entire school career, even when it had begun to merge with his more nefarious activities.

"So," Dan said, "shall we get started then?"

—

Dan groaned, loud and long, as he stumbled into his apartment. He was bruised all over, though he supposed he had some salve somewhere that would help with that. His head felt infinitely lighter now that his connection with all those men below that building had been severed.

He closed and locked the door of his apartment behind him, giving his shoulders an experimental roll and wincing when something in his back twinged. Yes, the Raven seemed to have kicked him there, at some point. Dan suspected he deserved it, having forced several civilians to blow up that building. It'd been _empty_  though, Dan had made sure of that. Still, the boss of that corporation probably wouldn't be too happy to see his building reduced to rubble, but that's what he got for rejecting Dan's application. Being a supervillain didn't pay much, after all, and it was a bit exhausting to have to steal his way through all his groceries.

Dan suspected he also deserved to be captured and unmasked for all his other crimes, but that had still yet to happen. The Raven was good, yes, but he wasn't good enough to capture him. To prevent some of his more dastardly plans, yes. To get Dan bound in ropes and his mask ripped from his face? Nope.

With a long-suffering sigh Dan stripped off his clothes, struggling out of the layers of latex and carefully folding his mask into a small square that could fit into his pocket. Practical and compact, his gadgets were. Not to mention fashionable.

He coughed, and his lungs burned in protest. It probably wasn't a good idea to breathe in so much smoke, but his favorite part about blowing things up was watching it. The smoke that billowed away was just part of the added fun. The Raven had been properly peeved to see that Dan had gotten away with his plans. He succeeded just as often as he failed, all depending on which one of them had shown up more prepared.

Still, Dan knew he wasn't _properly_  evil. He wasn't torturing innocent civilians, wasn't shooting down crowds of people. He was just having a bit of fun, sometimes righteous fun, at that. Just last week he'd hunted down and castrated a serial rapist—he should be thanked for some of his deeds! (Some, though definitely not at all. Dan knew he wasn’t likely to get thanked for, say, bewitching the mayor, but still.)

Plus, having been born with his powers, wasn't it only Dan's right to put them to use? His _divine_  right, perhaps?

His powers were easy, and once he'd actually embraced them, they'd been simple to control as well. All he had to do was give someone a command with a bit of intent behind it, and they'd do it. It wasn't anything like hypnosis, it wasn't some kind of trick. He could make anyone do anything he wanted, anything under the sun. He could even make them rip off their own dick (which he'd learned just last week).

Limping into his bathroom, Dan turned the knob of the shower and watched it sputter to life. He'd at least returned a few of the more vicious injuries the Raven had given to him.

He closed his eyes as he slipped into the shower, remembering the events of the night.

—

"No time, Panther," Raven said, standing tall over Dan. He looked powerful, although he always did. "Today's the day you're getting captured."

Dan threw himself back against the roof, groaning loudly into the night air. If he were any less skilled of a villain he wouldn't be so ballsy as to do something like that. He supposed he was putting himself in danger whenever the Raven was around—making himself vulnerable to capture, or perhaps death, if the Raven could bring himself to do that. But Dan was faster than the Raven, stealthier too. By the time the Raven could take a step, Dan would be on the other side of the roof.

"You're no fun, Raven," Dan complained, and he looked up at the dark figure with a frown. "Don't you even want to hear my monologue? My tragic backstory? I prepared one like all the proper villains in the movies."

"You're not funny," Raven replied. True, his mouth didn't curl in amusement, though Dan didn't doubt his own sense of humor. The Raven was too serious for his own good.

"Besides," Dan continued. "You've never caught me before. What makes you think today's any different?"

"This." Dan hadn't, of course, been prepared for Raven's new invention. He was always coming up with new things like that, trying to trip Dan up. And it _worked_. Dan was left gasping and in pain as currents of electricity coursed through his body, until he finally managed to pull himself out of the pain and launch himself away from his opponent, ripping off the bugs that had attached to him with the Raven's attack. They appeared to be some sort of projectiles, ones that latched onto Dan's clothes and released an electric current in response.

"Good God," Dan muttered, breathing hard. "That fucking sucked."

"I thought it would," the Raven replied snarkily. And then Dan grinned. Raven grew visibly angrier, which only made Dan more excited. Fighting the Raven made him feel alive.

The fight was brief but brutal, quick, vicious exchanges that left their skin and muscles throbbing in complaint. At the end of it all, having been electrocuted twice more, Dan was forced to bring it to an end.

"As fun as this has been," he panted, clutching his side. "I've really got to go."

"But you haven't done anything yet," the Raven had pointed out.

"How kind of you to remind me." Again, the Raven had a lot to learn. He wasn't the only smart person out there, after all. Usually, Dan persuaded people on the spot, right in front of the Raven. He enjoyed the disgusted downturn the hero's mouth took. But Dan could persuade them in advance too, and he could command them to respond to certain signals as well.

With a sarcastic salute to the Raven, Dan brought his fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly into the night. The first rumbles of the explosion were echoing underneath them as Dan launched himself off the building, watching as the Raven sprang up into the air in flight, surprised. By the time Dan landed (on his feet, as usual), Raven was a speck in the sky, and glass was shooting from the windows of the building into the surrounding area, right before an explosion sounded below them. _That’ll be the basement level._

Dan then set off with a run, years of practice under his belt, making something like running the easiest task in the world. He was quick. He was _fast_ , just as fast as the Raven was, flying. Police sirens echoed all around, threatening to give Dan a headache. He sprinted on.

The damned Raven was following him from above, as Dan knew he would, and he giggled to himself as he sidestepped into a random alley and pressed himself against the wall. Suspecting trickery, Raven circled above him a few times, before deciding Dan had probably escaped into one of the surrounding buildings, and landed at the entrance of the alley. Dan stayed pressed against the wall. The art of melting into the shadows was as easy as breathing to him, and he stepped out of hiding when Raven was close enough.

The other man’s breath hitched quietly, just enough to let Dan know he’d truly surprised him, and then Dan pressed him against the brick wall with his body. He was strong for his size, he knew that, and it was all thanks to the muscle he’d built with his years of being the Panther. Raven was new to the equation, after all, but Dan was happier now than he’d been for a long while.

“Following me into a dark alley, Raven?” Dan whispered. He placed his hand on the exposed skin of Raven’s jaw, and the other man’s hand shot up to grip Dan’s wrist with the strength of iron. Dan concealed his wince—that was sure to bruise. He could feel the Raven’s body pressed against his, could feel him panting, due to all the rapid movement he’d been doing. “Don’t you know bad guys lurk here?”

“I could fucking electrocute you right now,” the Raven threatened. It was a bluff. If he could, he would’ve done it already, but Dan knew now, as he had suspected back on the roof, that Raven had used his last little electrocution bugs already. He was out of them.

“But you won’t,” Dan said sensually, and then he leaned up and whispered into Raven’s ear, “because you’re as turned on as I am?” The Raven made a choked sound, and he moved, just barely, likely about to deploy another hidden weapon. Dan wasn’t about to find out what other tricks he’d kept up his sleeve, and he leapt backwards, agilely perching on the ledge of a windowsill, several feet above the Raven’s head. This ability was another gadget installed in his costume—his shoes could propel him the length of two men into the air.

“You’re disgusting,” Raven snapped. Dan pouted.

“You’re homophobic,” he countered childishly, settling on the windowsill and dangling his feet below himself. _Try to grab them, Raven,_  he silently urged. _I dare you_. “What a hero! A _heterosexual_  hero. You wouldn’t save a queer, would you?”

The Raven growled, and he launched himself into the air, reaching for Dan’s feet. Dan laughed giddily, and he slammed the heel of his foot into Raven’s chest when he was close enough, delighting in the choked sound he made. Raven collapsed back onto the floor of the alley, and Dan jumped back down to squat beside him, breath knocked out and struggling to regain it.

“We really do have fun together,” Dan commented, and he cocked his head, staring down into Raven’s blue eyes. “We should do this again sometime! Maybe next week? I was thinking I might do something with the public library.”

Raven’s eyes filled with rage, and he bared his teeth. Soon enough, the air would flood back into his lungs, and he’d be diving to catch Dan. He stood, laughing as he stared down at Raven. He wasn’t quite at Dan’s level yet, but Dan was waiting anxiously for the day it came, for the day when it was actually hard, the day he could barely scrape a win. He was at quite the disadvantage, however. Raven was willing to do anything to capture Dan, but Dan would always let him go. After all, how else could he assure that Raven would come back?

“Don’t worry so much, Raven,” Dan said, and he jumped onto the window’s ledge again, and then another. “My plans are actually quite tame. I was thinking I might steal a book!” He was unable to keep himself from laughing in pure delight, at that, and he peered down from the roof of the building now, where below the Raven was struggling to his feet. Dan waved, and then he was running along the tops of buildings. After all, he had a microwaveable meal to get to.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWELVE YEARS EARLIER:**

"Daniel Howell?" Mr. Peters called.

There was silence. "Daniel? Is there a Daniel present?"

"He's here, sir," a small boy from the front piped up. "He just doesn't talk."

There were a few snickers at this. Dan ignored them. He was sitting in the back of the class—his preferred location—with his legs pulled up onto the seat of his chair. He was small enough that tasks like this were easily accomplished—something that other kids noticed and tended to pick on.

"And who is he?" Mr. Peters asked, sounding confused. Heads from all around the room turned, and fingers pointed. Dan stared at the wood grain on his desk, ignoring the lot of them.

He hated the first day of school. All the teachers, at this point, would try to talk to him—before they realized that he wouldn't respond. That he was different. That he was _weird_ , as the other kids liked to say. But he never responded. He rarely even spoke to his own parents.

Even worse was that this wasn't only his first day of school, it was his first day of _middle_  school. An entirely new building with entirely new teachers and entirely new students. It was the worst.

Mr. Peters, thankfully, didn't try to talk to Dan after that and simply marked him down as present. He continued on to the next student.

It was true that the kids in his grade didn’t like him. Well, technically his grade. He’d skipped both first and second, and he was currently the only ten year old in the sixth grade class, where the rest of his peers were most likely already twelve. People liked to say he was smart, that he was especially bright for his age. Dan didn’t think he was smart. He just thought everybody else was dumb.

As Mr. Peters was talking, introducing himself by attempting to be funny and relatable to a bunch of children (Dan sighed and laid his head down on his desk), the door to his classroom opened. In walked an administrator is a too-tight pencil skirt, guiding a black-haired boy with large square glasses perched on the end of his nose. As Dan watched, chin propped uncaringly on his forearms, the boy pushed them back up his nose.

“Mr. Peters,” the woman interrupted, and Mr. Peters stopped mid-sentence to turn and look at her.

“Oh!” he said, surprised. “And who is this?”

“This is Phil Lester—he’s transferred from Stonewall Elementary on the wayside of town.”

“Well then welcome, Mister Phil Lester! Why don’t you take a seat wherever you see fit?”

Mister Phil Lester pushed up his glasses once more, taking a quick look around the room.

“ _That’s_  Phil Lester?” the boy sat in front of Dan whispered to his friend. His name was Piers.

“You know him?”

“He’s won the local science fair the last four years—went on to regionals last year, I heard. He’s like, a wicked genius.”

“Think he’ll let us copy his homework?”

Piers slapped his friend on the arm, laughing. Dan rolled his eyes. It was typical of his classmates, really. They could hardly do anything for themselves, and Dan considered it entirely their fault that they were absolutely useless.

Dan looked up once more when the door slammed, the lady having left the room. He blinked, looking around for the new kid. Had he gone?

“‘Scuse me?” a quiet voice said. Dan felt his mood instantly sour. How bad could his luck _be_? “Could I sit here?”

Dan turned his head so that his other cheek was laying on his arms, and he looked up at Phil Lester. He looked nice enough, and it wasn’t like Dan was going to tell him no. Even though, a small part of him was very, very tempted to tell him to _go away_. Instead, he raised his eyebrows.

“He doesn’t talk, mate,” Piers’s friend said. Jacob? Johnson? “I’m Carl,” Not Jacob-Johnson said. Oh well, Dan couldn’t be expected to remember all their names.

“Phil,” Phil responded quietly. Mr. Peters was back to talking, completely oblivious to the quiet confrontation in the back of the room.

“Might as well sit next to us,” Piers piped up. He picked up his backpack from where it was occupying the seat beside him and moved it onto his lap. “If you ever intend to have a conversation, anyway.” Carl snickered at that, and Dan lifted his head and, considering the problem solved, turned to face the other way again. It wasn’t like he needed to pay attention in class, it all came easily to him anyway. Not to mention that today was only the first day—they probably wouldn’t be learning anything anyway.

“He seems nice enough to me, actually,” Phil responded, and Dan felt himself glare. What a stupid prick! Phil sat down beside Dan, jostling the table slightly, and Dan huffed into his elbow crease. Phil Lester would learn soon enough—just as everybody else had—that there was absolutely nothing entertaining about sitting next to him.

Unfortunately, Phil continued sitting next to him in the days to follow, even when nothing changed at all and Dan continued to not say a single word to him, or to anyone. And it was for a simple reason, really. He just didn’t want to become the bad guy.

See, there was something wrong with Dan. He’d figured it out a few years ago; before he’d been too self-involved to realize why things always went his way, and why that was wrong. And once he’d figured it out, he’d stopped speaking at all. Because Dan was _evil_. He had an evil power, anyway, and people would do anything he said if he told them to. Obviously, the only solution was to just not say anything ever, and then nobody could be hurt by him.

“Can I borrow a pencil?” Phil asked one class. Dan was leaning far back in his chair, his eyes closed and his face was tipped toward the ceiling. He opened one eye to look at his neighbor. Phil was smiling at him, and Dan squinted, trying to figure out if he was being tricked.

Finally, sure that if he had to endure looking at that pleading smile for a moment more he would surely combust, Dan sighed and reached down for his bag, which he retrieved a pencil from. He handed it to Phil.

“Thanks,” Phil said. “I’ll give it back after class.”

Despite Phil promising to give it back, Dan didn’t take it. When the older boy tried handing it to him, Dan simply stood up and walked out of the class with the rest of the students, the school’s intercom bell system blaring in his ears.

He couldn’t have cursed this simple interaction with the other boy more. Regardless of what he wanted, he found himself becoming interested in the other boy. He noticed that he was still using Dan’s pencil in every class, and despite Dan’s refusal to talk to him, he still conversed with him, even if his conversations were entirely one-sided.

If there was one thing about himself that Dan hated, other than the fact that he was pre-wired for evilness, it was the fact that he was _different_. It wasn’t enough that he’d skipped two grades, finding himself in a sea of students older than him and infinitely taller. He also had to be what he heard referred to as _gay_ , and not in a good way.

He’d first heard the word as an insult, both directed at him and at others. At first it’d meant nothing to him, but eventually, curiosity had gotten the better of him and he’d gone searching through his father’s library for a dictionary. There, he learned that to be gay was to like the same gender, which still meant pretty much nothing to Dan. He didn’t like anyone—at the time.

Strangely, though, Dan found himself beginning to notice things. Like how when Tristan, a tall eighth grader with a squared jaw, bumped into him in the hallway, only to grab him shoulder to keep him from falling as he apologized, Dan’s heart thundered something fierce.

He noticed things like how boys’ shirts fit them and how they smiled and how it felt when particularly cute ones stood in close proximity to him. More than anything, he noticed how uncomfortable and sweaty he felt during English class, when Phil was seated directly beside him. He noticed how tight his chest felt, how aware he was of his every movement, his every breath. And when Phil spoke to him—for the first time in two years—he found himself wanting to respond.

It started with the touching. Phil Lester, it turned out, was a very touchy person. He would tap Dan’s arm to get his attention, or grab the side of his shirt. Dan would always, always, always flinch, and his face would turn bright red. He just couldn’t help it.

Phil didn’t seem to notice, thankfully, but he did notice that he was managing to get Dan’s attention this way. Before, when Phil spoke to him, Dan would listen without looking, finding silent amusement in his words. Now, he was forced to look into the older boy’s eyes as he spoke, and Dan felt a whole army of caterpillars wriggling in his stomach, threatening to turn into butterflies.

Even worse was the first time Phil managed to make him smile. They were listening to Mr. Peters, as usual. Well, Phil was listening. Dan didn’t get why he bothered, when he was obviously so smart already. He knew all the answers, didn’t struggle in any areas, and yet he wrote down what was written on the board, word for word.

Dan, of course, wasn’t talking. He was resting his eyes, or in other words—taking a nap. He woke to some unkind words, however.

“Well, he _is_  ten,” Carl was saying, and Piers snickered. Dan was automatically tuned in. He was the only ten-year-old here, who else could they be talking about?

“Think he still has a nap time?”

Someone cleared their throat. And then: “Excuse me? Are you talking about Dan?”

Dan was still pretending to be asleep, but he stiffened slightly as Phil spoke. Phil was probably going to start making fun of him too, now that he’d realized Dan was ten and not only the puniest, but also the youngest one in their grade.

“Yeah,” Piers snickered. “He like, skipped two grades or something. Might explain why he’s so small.”

Phil didn’t answer for a few moments. And then, “That’s awesome,” he said. “He must be brilliant.”

Piers and Carl shut up after that, and Dan stayed tucked into his arms, but he was grinning widely. Before he left class that day, he sent Phil a tiny smile. Also a huge mistake.

Phil seemed to take this smile as permission to consider the two of them friends. He talked to Dan even more during class, distracting him from the material when he was actually trying to pay attention. He seemed to have made it his life’s goal to get Dan to keep smiling then, which was kind of impossible not to do when it was all someone was trying to accomplish—Phil was bound to be successful occasionally.

He also took it upon himself to start going out of his way to say hi to Dan in the hallways. Before, he’d occasionally waved when passing Dan, when he happened to be looking straight forward instead of at his feet, anyway. But now not only did he manage to see Dan all the time, he called out to him at full volume and would walk with him down the halls. He would even stop at Dan’s locker in between classes! Dan found this distasteful.

He fell in love with Phil on a Tuesday. It was an ordinary Tuesday, in no way different from all the others. But Phil did something that had never happened before.

“Hey Dan,” someone said, and Dan turned. It was Piers. Dan raised his eyebrows, in what he hoped was a ‘what do you want?’ kind of expression. School had already ended, and most of the kids had filed outside to board their buses. Dan was a walker, his house near enough that he didn’t have to suffer the humidity of the bus, nor the stupidity of those who rode it. “You’ve done the English homework already, haven’t you?”

Dan shrugged. Of course he’d done it. He did most of his homework in class, actually. Why bother paying attention to learn the material when he could do it himself instead? That’s why he didn’t mind homework so much. It was just classwork, to him, and he was likely smarter because of it. Still, he didn’t have to tell Piers this.

“Liar,” Piers said, and he took a step forward. He was taller than Dan, but then again, everybody was. It was never so apparent until they were actually towering over him, however. Dan crossed his arms. He could make this boy rip out his own eyeballs if he so desired. Which he didn’t.

“Give it to me,” Piers insisted. Dan rolled his eyes and turned, starting off down the hallway. Only a moment later, he was being slammed against the wall of lockers, gasping in pain. “Give it to me,” Piers repeated. Dan shook his head stubbornly. Piers dug his fingers into Dan’s shoulders, before pulling him forward and slamming him into the lockers again. Dan bit down on a groan.

“Do you not like this?” Piers taunted. “Why don’t you tell me to stop then?”

 _I could_ , thought Dan recklessly. _I could just tell him to stop, to leave me alone._

Dan was breathing heavily, his heart racing at the thought of saying something. He opened his mouth—

“Shove off, Piers,” a voice that was definitely not Dan’s barked. Piers did let go though, looking around in surprise. Dan imitated his action. There, at the other end of the hall, was Phil. He was stalking towards them, and Piers only had to take one look at the expression on Phil’s face before he was running.

Dan, still panting, continued to lean against the lockers. He’d nearly _spoken_. Not only would he have… have… _controlled_  Piers, he would’ve been found out. And who wouldn’t be put in prison for having such an ability as his?

“Are you okay?” Phil asked quietly, and Dan zoned back in, realizing Phil had finished traversing the hall and had come to stop in front of him. Dan nodded.

“Did you miss your bus?” Dan shook his head. Phil frowned, confused. All the buses had already left, but he hadn’t yet realized that Dan walked to school every day.

“Well, my mum’s here—she can drive us home.”

Dan wasn’t able to argue (for obvious reasons) and he simply complied as Phil grabbed his wrist and started leading him out of the school. He had a warm, horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wished Phil would hold his hand.

When they made it to the car, Phil opened the door for Dan, and then climbed in after him.

“Hey Mum!” Phil said, as they buckled their seat belts. “This is Dan! Is it okay if we give him a ride home?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Lester said, smiling pleasantly in the rearview mirror. “And how are you, dear?” She was still looking at Dan.

“Oh—” Phil interrupted quickly, but for once, Dan didn’t want to seem like a weirdo. And he felt oddly… comfortable. He cleared his throat.

“I’m good,” he said quietly, smiling politely at her. She smiled back before putting the car in drive, and Dan glanced over at Phil, who looked like the blood had drained out of his face, his mouth hanging open. Luckily, Dan didn’t have to talk again during the car ride, as Phil kept his mother well occupied with stories about his day. But when they pulled up to Dan’s house, he turned to Dan.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Phil!” his mother reprimanded. “How impoli—”

But Dan was nodding. He didn’t feel like he had any other option, really, and this was going to have to happen sooner or later. He knew that Phil would want answers.

“Just for a little bit Mum!” Phil said jovially, and then he was racing up Dan’s driveway, Dan lagging behind him.

He unlocked the door for them both, and then he was shutting it behind them, Phil’s mum driving off to wherever they lived.

“Dan?” his mother called, and Dan wandered into the kitchen, following her voice. Phil trailed after him. His mother turned when Dan entered the room and her eyes widened when she saw Phil.

“And who’s this? Did you bring a friend home?”

Dan shrugged.

“I’m Phil, Mrs. Howell,” Phil said politely. “Thank you for having me.”

“Oh it’s no problem!” his mother answered. “Why don’t you two go up to Dan’s room and play while I start putting dinner together. Can you stay, Phil?”

“That’d be great!” Phil agreed.

Dan felt like everything was being orchestrated around him. Despite his annoyance at being excluded, he grabbed Phil’s wrist and led him through the house, taking him up the stairs and down the hall to his bedroom. He suddenly felt shy. All of his personal belongings were in there, all of his embarrassing books and games. He was very abruptly aware of the fact that he was only ten while Phil was _twelve_.

Regardless, he led Phil into his room and closed the door behind them, before simply standing there with his arms crossed.

“You _talk_?” Phil demanded. Dan shrugged, and Phil’s eyebrows lowered in confusion.

Dan huffed loudly. “Sometimes,” he answered.

Phil grinned. “I love your voice,” he conveyed, and Dan felt his face go bright red. Phil, for some reason unknown to man, pulled Dan into a hug, which wasn’t helping Dan’s flustered nature in any way. Still, he tried to relax into Phil’s arms. After all, it wasn’t every day that your crush decided to hug you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! i decided to upload this chapter early because my best friend's visiting from texas this weekend and i didn't know if i'd have a chance to otherwise, so i hope you all enjoy and i'll see you next saturday! thanks for reading :]

Phil was hunched over his desk, the light from the windows long since gone and his eyes beginning to ache from being in use for so long. He probably had no business being awake at four in the morning, not for the third night in a row, anyway, but he couldn't help it. When inspiration hit, he tended to let it take him. Plus, there was no saying he would remember all of his ingenious ideas after a good night's rest. A lot of his inventions were built solely from his delusional, sleep-deprived mind.

What he was doing, though, was for the good of the public. The news was always thanking him and calling on him for help, for him to save them. Well, they didn't call on _him_  exactly—they were calling on the Raven.

The Raven, the notorious superhero who’d risen against the dark figure that’d been tormenting London for ages now—the Panther. Panther was a stupid, evil, sonofabitch who made life more difficult for people everywhere. He got off on tormenting innocents and blowing things up for the fun of it. To make matters worse, the Panther had a legitimate superpower as far as Phil could tell.

In the beginning, before he’d become the Raven, he’d always wondered how Panther did it. How he seemed to be able to make things happen in several places at once, how he was always so prepared, everything so meticulously planned. That was before the knowledge of his superpowers had come to light, before they’d become known to the public and there’d been a mass panic, everyone trying to figure out how to keep themselves from being persuaded.

The very next day on the news, the anchor had stood up, climbed onto his desk, and clucked like a chicken, walking all over his and his co-anchor’s sheath of notes. And then there’d been a crash, and the camera had panned away from the anchor, instead turning to face a now broken window, which the Panther had been leaning against.

“You _can’t_  protect yourselves,” he’d said innocently. There’d been the sounds of footsteps running all around, the news station going crazy, everyone panicking about the fact that the Panther had broken in—and in _broad daylight_! He normally saved his shenanigans for night.

“Leave us alone!” the man behind the camera had said bravely. It was a foolish thing to do, as Panther had then turned his attention directly to him. Seeing as he was the one behind the camera, to everyone watching it looked like the Panther was looking directly at them.

“Where’d be the fun in that?” Panther had purred, and he’d actually taken a step forward, his head cocked to the side. “Now, Stevens,” he’d called. The camera-man apparently hadn’t been manning the camera anymore, but off-screen there’d been a loud bang. Panther had grinned.

In the background, there’d been screaming and shouting, loud crashes and more bangs—all of which the Panther had ignored. He’d sauntered up to the camera, smiling delightedly. Closer and closer he’d come, and once close enough, his cat-like eyes had become visible to the viewer.

“You can’t stop me,” he’d whispered. “You can only watch.”

It was this, mainly, that’d inspired Phil to fight back. This video, of course, had been spread wildly all over the internet, creating more fear and distress in the hearts and minds of everyone who watched it. Phil was adamant to prove the Panther wrong—he didn't have to just watch. He would fight back, and he would put an end to him.

Thinking of the Panther never failed to make him angry. He was evil, obviously, but it was more than that. He almost acted as if the two of them were friends. And there was also, of course, the fact that he was inappropriately flirtatious with Phil—his _enemy_.

Lost in thought, Phil barely noticed the knock on the door, blinking rapidly when the room was suddenly flooded with light.

"How do you expect to beat the Panther if you never sleep?" Remy chided. Somehow, she'd managed to squeeze herself into Phil's life. They'd gone to college together, and she'd been suspicious of him, wondering where he was always disappearing to and why he was gone all hours of the night. In the end, she'd trapped Phil in his room and demanded to know if he was the Panther.

"The _Panther_?" he'd exclaimed, offended that his friend would ever think such a thing. "What makes you think I'm the Panther?"

"You're always holed up in your room, probably coming up with horrible plans. And half the time you aren't even on campus! I expect you're out there luring innocent children away from their parents, or, or..."

Phil had stopped her there. He'd explained that he wasn't the Panther, and had shown her what he'd been working on for so long. At that point he'd only had his costume and a few meager inventions, long-since outdated.

"I'm going to fight him," Phil had said, determined.

"Oh Phil," Remy had responded sadly. "You're going to get yourself killed."

Never a week went by during which Remy didn't try to convince him to quit being the Raven, to allow the police to face the Panther on their own. Phil couldn't accept that, however. He knew he was good enough to beat the bastard, he just hadn't created the right weapons yet—which was infuriating.

Every villain has a weakness, right? Some sort of Achilles’ heel, something that Phil could exploit with the use of a single invention, something he could target to take down the Panther altogether. So far, he’d yet to find any such thing. The Panther seemed invariably strong, and not just because of his cocky attitude. He wouldn’t act that way without reason, and Phil wasn’t a fool. He knew the Panther was stronger than him, but he also knew that that was only temporary. Every day he was coming up with new inventions, new weapons that he could use to take the Panther down. With every confrontation between them he learned, and studied, and paid as close attention as he could to the Panther in hopes of finding his weakness, in hopes of learning the way he moved, the way he thought.

"Let me work, Remy," Phil said now. Remy shook her head.

"You're going to go to bed or else I'll use one of these inventions and _make_  you go to bed."

Remy had actually followed through with that threat before, and so it took some serious debating on Phil’s part as to whether he was going to obey his friend or not. Though he figured it _was_  probably pretty critical for him to get some proper sleep at this point. And he also wasn’t so sure about this goldfish invention he was working on anyway—it would involve getting the Panther into water in the first place.

With a sigh, Phil stood up and stretched, trying to ignore the various aches in his muscles resulting from the hours of sitting, thinking, and making. He casted one last glance at his goldfish prototype. Then again, there was water _all over the place_ … Even if he could get the Panther into a simple fountain, or maybe even a _puddle_ … really, this could be quite ingenious—

“Phil,” Remy said sternly, and Phil huffed out angrily. He would argue longer but really—he kind of owed a lot to Remy. For one thing, he definitely wasn’t doing his part with rent. He only had a part time job, which he was probably pretty close to getting fired from, seeing as he missed about half his shifts. He couldn’t help it though—most of his time was dedicated towards inventing things and ripping his clothes off in alley ways and strapping his mask on as an alarm sounded across the city, warning the people that the Panther was up to no good again. He couldn’t just ignore fighting the Panther because he was supposed to be bagging groceries.

“Fine,” Phil finally grumbled, and he picked his way through the room. It was an organized mess—honest—but Remy was constantly getting on him for it. Sometimes she tried to sneak in and clean it, but Phil had set up several defense mechanisms throughout the room to prevent this. Remy was more likely to find her neck imbedded with a poison dart than manage to clean even a quarter of the room.

It wasn’t that Phil had a problem with cleanliness, it was just that in his study he knew where everything was, knew exactly where the things he needed were when he needed them. And if Remy moved them, organized them, it would take him twice as long to put his ideas together. But when he needed a small phillips-head screwdriver, he could simply cross the room and find it balanced atop the Laser Toaster (not one of his better inventions, Phil was willing to admit. The Panther had outright laughed at it).

“Good man,” Remy said happily, clapping him on the back as he exited the room. The hallway beyond was almost shocking in its cleanliness, not to mention the sheer amount of light. He’d been sitting in the dark for so long, and he thought his eyes had gotten used to it when Remy had opened the door, but apparently not. He squinted.

“You know,” Remy said conversationally, and Phil was already crossing his arms over his chest, already raising an eyebrow at her. “I was thinking—maybe we could get you a little toolbox. Put all your tools in one place—”

“Remy,” Phil reprimanded. “What have we said about you organizing my things?”

“I know,” Remy said hurriedly, her eyes wide. “But _maybe_ —”

“ _Maybe_  I’ll just continue working on my goldfish—”

“Fine!” Remy muttered, slamming the door of Phil’s study behind them. “Live in your own filth, see if I care!”

Phil simply grinned at her and tugged a lock of her short brown hair before he passed, his feet padding softly on the hardwood as he traversed the hallways towards his room. Belatedly, he realized that he was only wearing one sock—half on, at that—and couldn’t help wondering just when the hell that had happened.

—

It was probably stupid that Phil was here, but he couldn't help it. He just wanted to _know_.

Books surrounded him on all sides, and the quiet murmuring of people all around him filled the air. His mind rung with the Panther’s taunt to come and steal from the library, and Phil huffed. It was obvious that the Panther was lying, just trying to wind Phil up, but some stupid part of him wouldn’t just let him ignore it. He had to investigate, had to see for himself. He’d already come to the library the past two days, wondering how long the Panther constituted as a week. He could’ve been meaning exactly a week, a whole seven days before he came, or he could've meant a rougher estimate, like five days. This was, of course, if he decided to show up at all. Which Phil doubted he would. He was just being overly prepared, which wasn’t exactly a bad thing.

Not for the first time, he prowled down the aisles, his eyes peeled for the pointed ears of the Panther's mask. Phil didn't really understand its purpose, other than the aesthetic. His own mask was entirely functional—it changed the sound of his voice when he spoke in order keep his true identity a secret. A small part of him knew that the Panther was smart as well, that he'd likely added a similar function to his own mask, but Phil hoped it wasn't true. He liked to imagine accidentally meeting the Panther in person one day, no costumes to hide behind. He imagined hearing the Panther speak, and realizing that it was him—the triumph he would feel, the conviction that everything would finally be over, that he finally had the Panther cornered.

Lost in thought, Phil idly glanced down yet another aisle, bored and slightly disappointed at the recent lack of events. He hadn’t come in costume, of course, because he didn’t want the Panther to be on the lookout for him. Plus, he didn’t think it’d be very casual to wander around a library all decked out in his superhero suit—created entirely by himself, of course.

Phil did a double take at the next aisle, having not expected anyone to be standing in it, after the abundance of empty ones he’d already encountered. But there was a man standing in the middle of this one, a book held open in front of his face. He was holding it open with just one hand, his other one idly running over the slightly worn wood of the bookshelf before him.

It felt like there was something oddly familiar about the man. For a second, Phil's heart seemed to beat _Panther, Panther, Panther_. But then the man turned. Phil felt his eyes widen of their own accord, his mouth suddenly going dry.

"Dan?" he exclaimed. The man looked up, his brows pulled down in confusion. But then his eyes filled with recognition, and his mouth dropped open.

"Phil?" he said quietly, his incredulous disbelief tangible even in his soft-spoken words. “Is that really you?” God, it was his voice too. Dan had always spoken softly. He'd be what—twenty-two now? Phil shook his head, smiling. He couldn't believe it.

“Yes,” Phil said, unable to help the grin that was, at this point, encompassing his face. “What are you doing here?" he asked, his feet taking him forward without his permission, carrying him closer to the man he hadn’t seen in so long.

"At the library?"

“No!” Phil laughed, though Dan just continued to look confused. Phil’s memory—possibly a little distorted by now, what with how long it had been—was convinced that Dan was a super-genius. But right now he just seemed a little daft. “ _Here_! In London!" Phil said, and Dan made a little "oh" sound.

“Just—wanted to live in the city, I guess," he answered. Phil would've never seen him as a city boy. He'd seemed so at home back in the suburbs, when they were kids. To think now he was _here_...

"You should've told me," Phil said reverently, shaking his head. He debated it for a moment, but then realized that he couldn’t help himself anyway. He pulled Dan into a hug, who made a surprised sound in the back of his throat. For a moment, it was just Phil hugging Dan, but then the (still) smaller boy’s hands came up to rest against his back.

“It’s good to see you too,” he said almost breathlessly, sounding nervous. Phil finally pulled away, resisting the urge to swipe the hair out of Dan’s face. He leaned against the shelf beside Dan, trying to inject a bit of space between them, even though all Phil wanted right now was to be close to his old friend.

“You should’ve told me,” Phil repeated, and Dan rolled his eyes.

"After we hadn't spoken in, what, eleven years?" he laughed. "Wouldn't that have been a bit odd?"

“No,” Phil said adamantly, but Dan looked as if he thoroughly didn’t believe him. Phil almost didn’t blame him.

It was his fault they hadn't talked for so long, anyway. He'd promised Dan that they'd keep in touch after he moved away, but after what Dan had said to him that last day... He'd only been twelve at the time, it was understandable that he'd been a bit overwhelmed, not to mention confused. Surely Dan wasn't still mad about that...?

"What are you up to these days?" Phil finally asked.

Dan shrugged. It was such a familiar action, one Phil had seen him do so many times when they were younger—back when Dan hadn't spoken so much—that he grinned. His eyes roamed from Dan's curly hair to his pink jumper to his white shoes, soaking it all in. He was hit with a sudden, irresistible wave of attraction.

"School," Dan answered finally, though his eyes were locked firmly on the floor.

“Still!?” Phil exclaimed. Dan had skipped two grades in elementary school, which meant if he was still in college now, two years after he would’ve graduated…

“Oh! Um—yes. Yeah. Going for my masters, you know,” he stuttered.

"Oh god," Phil laughed. "Good luck with that."

"You've graduated by now, haven't you?" Dan then asked, and Phil nodded.

"Thankfully," he said. Dan smiled at that, and Phil couldn't resist grinning in return. He'd thought about Dan occasionally since moving to London, wondering where he was now or what he was doing. They hadn't known each other for long, but during that year their friendship had been fast and intense. Phil realized, quite suddenly, that he'd missed Dan.

“Listen—do you want to go get a coffee?" he asked impulsively. Dan's eyes widened.

“I—what?"

"C'mon," Phil persuaded. "I'll buy."

Dan looked floored. "But uh, like—as friends?" he questioned.

Phil shrugged. "If that's what you want."

Dan was now squinting in obvious confusion. “What?"

"I wouldn't be opposed to taking you out on a date, Dan," Phil said, smiling broadly. "It'll be fun, I promise.”

“You’re gay?” Dan answered, instead of agreeing, and Phil shrugged.

“Bi, actually,” he said. “It only took a couple years after moving for me to figure it out…”

“You’re a little slow on the uptake.”

Phil was laughing again, his face unable to stop smiling. He then fixed Dan with a serious look. “So come on,” he said resolutely. “Get coffee with me.”

Phil was pretty sure that Dan only agreed because he was too confused to do otherwise, but he wasn't upset about that. He walked next to Dan as they traveled the rest of the way through the shelves, talking animatedly and asking any questions that came to mind. He was so overwhelmed with excitement that he didn't even notice that he led Dan straight out of the library, both of them forgetting about the book still held in his hand. He also didn't notice when Dan just barely paused at the double doors of the library, glancing around surreptitiously, before tucking the stolen book into his bag. And if he had, he surely wouldn’t have thought this an accident either.


	4. Chapter 4

**TWELVE YEARS EARLIER**

Phil was having a bit of trouble finding Dan. They'd promised to meet in the front of the school after their last class, but Dan was late. Tonight they were going to have their very first sleepover. They'd already hung out outside of school tons of times—which Phil always looked forward to. Dan would never say anything to him in school, but at home he would grant him with his voice a good amount of the time. With every passing day Dan found himself more and more comfortable speaking in Phil's presence. He couldn't help feeling like he was winning something.

Phil bit his lip guiltily as his mother finally pulled up in front of the school. He wandered slowly towards her car, leaning in through the passenger window after she rolled it down.

"Where's Dan?" His mother had taken a quick liking to Dan, claiming him to be the most polite and sweetest boy Phil could've ever befriended. "Keep that one close," she'd said mere days after meeting Dan for the second time, during which he'd only spoken to her twice. "It's not every day you make a friend like him."

What his mother didn't know was that Dan really wasn't that polite. He rolled his eyes when people asked dumb questions in class and scoffed under his breath at anyone he deemed less than intelligent. He judged everyone for everything and spent half the time using his eyes to glare. If Phil hadn't managed to become his friend he was sure that Dan would be doing to same to him.

"I don't know," Phil answered anxiously. "I think I should go and look for him..."

"That's okay," his mother said brightly. "Take your time, I'm sure he's in there somewhere."

Phil spun on his heel, heading right back inside Jefferson Junior High. The halls always seemed eery to him after school hours, all the students and teachers gone except for the occasional stray. It almost seemed like a different world, the hallways—normally so boisterous and lively—practically dead. As Phil walked through the school, glancing curiously down the halls, he passed a few custodians, who smiled politely at him.

He couldn't help wondering where Dan had gone. Maybe he'd forgotten that he was coming over tonight? Phil wasn't sure how Dan could've forgotten about their sleepover—it was all he'd been thinking about for the past week—but it was a good enough explanation. Or perhaps he'd become nervous at the prospect of sleeping over with Phil and had walked home instead of telling him?

With a huff, Phil traipsed into the sixth grader’s area of the school. Their classes were bunched around here, towards the back, all scattered around the main area full of lockers. Phil had just taken to peering down the locker aisles begrudgingly, sure that Dan was long-gone, when he heard a cough.

He froze before spinning around, attempting to find the source of the noise. “Hello?” he finally called, confused.

“Phil?” a quiet voice murmured, and Phil spun around for a second time.

“ _Dan_? Where are you?”

There was a moment of terse silence. Another cough. “Locker.”

Phil gasped, horrified for his friend, and rushed towards where Dan’s voice had originating from. He pressed his face against one of the lockers and peered through the slats, saddened to see Dan staring back.

“How’d you get in there?” Phil demanded.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dan muttered. “Just get me out.”

Unfortunately, neither of them knew the locker’s combination, as it wasn’t either of theirs, and Phil was forced to go hunt down a member of the staff. They were lucky that there was still anyone here at all, but there happened to be a school counselor lingering in the main office, which Phil came panting into.

“Excuse me!” he called. The woman—Mrs. Jones?—jumped, her hand flying up to her chest in surprise.

“Oh my! What are you still doing here?”

Not wasting time for pleasantries, Phil got straight to the point. “My friend’s stuck in a locker!” Phil watched as Mrs. Jones’s eyes widened, and then she was telling Phil to lead the way, hurrying right after him as he practically ran back down the halls, her keys jangling by her side.

Phil lead her straight to the locker, his pointer finger extended as he marched towards it. “This one,” he directed.

“Are you okay in there?” the counselor asked distractedly, now hastily sorting through her keys for the right one. No response came, and her fingers slowed as she looked up towards the locker. “Hello?”

Still without a response, she turned to Phil. “Are you sure it was this locker…?”

“Yes,” Phil answered. “He’s in there. He just doesn’t talk.”

“Oh!” she replied. “Little Daniel Howell?”

Phil nodded distractedly, and Mrs. Jones finally procured the right key, jamming it into the locker successfully and turning it in the lock. With a click, the locker door jumped open to reveal Dan, fitting comfortably in the small space but looking embarrassed and defeated. He immediately stumbled out, his eyes fixed firmly to the ground as he stepped closer to Phil.

“Are you okay?” the counselor asked, and Dan managed a distracted nod, not even bothering to make eye contact. “Who did this to you?”

Phil opened his mouth with a deep intake of breath, the names already in his mouth, but Dan punched him hard and unsubtly in the side, and Phil snapped his mouth shut. “Dan probably didn’t see,” he said abruptly. “You know, he’s like—” Trying to lie on the spot was not Phil’s strong suit, and without any better ideas for an excuse, he just gestured to the area around his chest. “—short. So he wouldn’t have seen their faces.”

Mrs. Jones looked extremely skeptical, but Phil could practically feel the waves of desire to _leave_  emanating from Dan. “And my mum’s waiting out front so we have to go,” he added hastily, before snagging Dan’s wrist and tugging him after him, ignoring the surprised look on the teacher’s face as they escaped.

Dan was noticeably rather put out about the events of the afternoon. He’d yet to make proper eye contact with Phil or say anything other than what he’d managed in order to be found. More than just embarrassed and sullen, Dan seemed angry. Intermittently his hands would tighten into fists by his sides and his steps would turn into stomps before he got a handle of himself. Seeing as he was only ten, however, Phil wasn’t very sure that he’d be able to take revenge in the form of clenched fists and loud stomps—he probably couldn’t do anything to combat kids bigger and older than him.

By the time they got to the car, Dan had gotten himself under control and simply looked bored, though he smiled pleasantly enough once they were in the car. It was surprising, how easily he was able to get his emotions under control once it actually mattered to him, once he was around someone other than Phil.

“What held you up?” Phil’s mum said in a chipper voice to Dan, her eyes flicking to his in the rearview mirror as she put the car into drive and pulled away from the curb. Dan just shrugged.

“No toilet paper.”

His mother laughed, and Dan managed a bright smile, his eyes twinkling. Phil laughed as well. Really, he wished that Dan had let him tell that teacher about who had really stuffed him in the locker. He even wished that Dan would tell his mum. He couldn’t decide whether he was going to tell her later in private or if he would keep Dan’s secret to himself. He also couldn’t deny that it was a little unsettling how easily Dan had managed to mask his emotions and manipulate the way he presented himself, though a small part in the back of Phil’s mind thought it was kind of impressive as well.

“So I’ve already got your sleepover stuff—your mum came by to drop it off this morning,” Phil’s mother said as they pulled into the driveway. Dan nodded obediently, and they all climbed out of the car to head inside. Dan stared around curiously as they walked through the front door, clearly trying to absorb everything he could.

“Welcome to my house!” Phil said jovially, and he swung his arm around Dan’s shoulders, who gasped, and lead him up the stairs. Once out of earshot of his mum, he released Dan.

“I wish you’d let me tell on Piers,” he said seriously, stopping to lean against the side of the hallway. Dan, obediently, stopped as well, leaning against the other side. He stared down at his feet, silent. He still did this sometimes. Even though he’d now spoken to Phil many times, almost regularly, he would still occasionally fall abruptly into silence. “No need to go quiet on me,” Phil added.

Dan huffed. “I don’t want to tell on Piers,” he said.

“Why not?” demanded Phil immediately. He couldn’t see any possible downside, and reveled at the idea of Piers and Carl getting punished. “We need justice!”

Dan scoffed. “Justice isn’t real.”

“What?” Phil exclaimed. “Of course it is! How could it not be?”

Dan shrugged mildly. “Just look at all the less fortunate people in the world—those living on the streets, those abused, bullied. They’re not getting justice.”

Phil felt his eyebrows pull down in confusion. He didn’t like what Dan was telling him, didn’t like the sheer negativity of it all. He shook his head. “You can’t think like that.”

“What?”

“You can’t think like that,” Phil repeated. “Plus, if the world isn’t giving people justice, then it’s up to the rest of us to ensure it.”

“You think you can help all those people, homeless on the streets?” Dan countered. Everything he said was quiet, serious. Phil didn’t think he’d ever gotten him to speak so much at once, and he guessed it was because this was a topic Dan was passionate about.

“Maybe not all of them, but the ones I help could help others,” Phil said stubbornly. “Now stop arguing with me—you need to see my room.”

—

Dinner was a quiet affair, with Phil and his parents carrying most of the conversation while Dan dug neatly into his food. He chimed in occasionally, and laughed along with the jokes, but Phil was pretty sure he was only doing so to avoid looking strange in front of his parents.

After dinner, they were ordered upstairs to get ready for bed, which included changing into their pajamas (Phil stripped off his shirt and proudly presented his first three chest hairs, which Dan squinted and leaned in close to see, the tips of his ears tinged pink) and brushing their teeth, their elbows knocking into each other haphazardly, which Phil guessed was the result of having a left-handed friend.

Afterward, they returned to his room to sleep, both climbing into his bed and fighting over the pillows. They must’ve been giggling too loud because his mother soon appeared in the doorway, telling them to settle down and get some rest. She turned off the light, and Dan clung triumphantly to what was obviously the best pillow on the entire bed.

Phil huffed and closed his eyes, though he couldn’t resist kicking Dan one last time, who then kicked him back.

When Phil woke up, it was to find that not only had Dan abandoned his best pillow, he’d decided that _Phil_  was a better pillow entirely, and was sprawled across him. Phil groaned in dissent, maneuvering out from under his still sleeping friend and making his way to the bathroom.

Downstairs, his mother was making breakfast, and she greeted Phil warmly when he stumbled sleepily into the kitchen. “Morning, love,” she said over her shoulder, otherwise occupied with the eggs she was making. “Dan still asleep?”

“Yep,” Phil croaked, before climbing onto one of the kitchen stools and resting his head on the counter. He gnawed his lip, as something that had been bugging him for a while now surfaced in his mind. “Hey Mum?”

“Hmm?”

“Is it wrong to like boys? Like, as girls like boys.”

There was a short moment of silence, during which his mother moved the cooking eggs from the pan to a plate, turned off the stove, and turned around to give him her full attention. “Of course not. Why do you ask?”

“I think that maybe Dan does,” Phil said quietly. His mother hummed.

“And why do you think that?”

“Well, whenever I ask him who he likes he says ‘nobody’,” Phil answered. “Except I can _tell_  he likes someone.”

“He could just not want to tell you just yet,” his mother said slowly. “Either way, it’s up to him to tell you whether he likes a girl or a boy or anyone, so don’t go pestering him about it.”

Phil huffed. “Fine.” His mother was still staring at him, as though waiting for something else… “And Mum?”

She nodded for him to continue.

“Yesterday… well, Dan lied in the car. He didn’t take so long because he was stuck without toilet paper—it was because someone stuffed him into a locker.”

His mother’s eyes widened, and her hand came up to her now open mouth in surprise and horror. “Oh…”

“He wouldn’t even tell the teacher who’d done it to him,” Phil continued.

His mother groaned, shaking her head. “That poor boy,” she said firmly.

Phil felt considerably lighter with the news off his chest, glad that it was now in his mother’s hands. She would probably get it sorted with Dan’s mum, who would hopefully talk to the school and make sure something like this didn’t happen again. Phil simply wasn’t able to be with Dan at all times—he couldn’t defend him from everyone.

About fifteen minutes later, when the food in the kitchen had grown considerably, Dan came wandering into the room, rubbing his eyes with his hair a mess around his face.

“Morning Dan!” Phil greeted, and Dan blinked at his loud tone. He nodded in response, before climbing onto the stool next to Phil and folding his arms atop the counter which he rested his head in, his eyes closed.

Soon, his mother was fixing them both a plate full of delicious breakfast items and they were both digging in enthusiastically, their feet knocking into each other as they swung them below the counter. Phil rushed off to the bathroom to wash his hands mere moments after finishing, somehow having managed to get syrup all over himself. It was when he was coming back though, that he realized this was a horrible mistake.

He paused outside the kitchen, his blood running cold, as he heard his mother’s soft voice. Peering around the edge, he could see that Dan was standing stiff and uncomfortable looking, his hands clenched into fists behind his back.

“…doesn’t mean you can’t tell me. It’s important because this way we can stop something like this from happening again, you know?”

Dan nodded jerkily. “Actually, I need to go home,” Dan said. Phil’s mother looked surprised, which she shouldn’t. She was the one driving Dan away! Phil hadn’t meant for her to let Dan realize that he’d _told_  her about what had actually happened!

“Oh, alright… Well, I can drive you then. Come on,” she was already crossing the kitchen and grabbing the car keys off the counter. Dan was still standing as if he was cornered, and he was shaking his head already.

“That’s okay Mrs. Lester—you really don’t live too far from me, and I’d like to walk.”

“Nonsense! I’ll just drive you over real quick, it’s hardly any trouble!”

“No,” Dan said. He cleared his throat. “No thank you. Don’t drive me.”

His mother blinked, and then she set the keys back down on the counter. “Well… okay then. But I want you to call when you get home safely, alright?”

Dan simply nodded, before spinning around to leave. He noticed Phil then, peering around the corner. For a moment, he looked surprised—almost scared—before his expression changed and he was glaring. Phil managed to take one step forward, some sort of apology prepared to stumble from his lips, but Dan practically ran from the house before he could say anything.

Phil yelled at his mother after that, saying that she’d ruined their sleepover and that he hadn’t wanted Dan to know that he’d told his mother about his lying. He ended up getting sent to his room, where he fumed alone and resolved to fix things with Dan on Monday. When he realized that Dan had forgotten all his sleepover supplies, his mother didn’t even let him go with her to return them, telling him that both he and Dan needed some time to cool off.

Come Monday, Phil felt anxious all over, almost as if it were his first day of school again. He looked around for Dan before class—they usually hung out in the mornings before the bell rang—but he was nowhere to be found. With a sigh, Phil settled for just waiting until English class.

Phil’s heart leapt when he saw Dan sitting in his usual seat, and he hurried to the back of the classroom to sit beside him.

“Dan!” Phil said quickly. “I’m so sorry about my mum, and for even telling her! I know you wanted it to be a secret, but…” Phil petered off as Dan refused to acknowledge his presence. He didn’t turn to look at Phil, instead continued to stare stoically at the front of the classroom.

Phil even tried to pass him a note during class, but Dan was dutifully taking notes as their teacher talked, which he never did—ever. Phil’s note went unseen, or more likely, ignored. When the bell rang, Dan didn’t even rush out of class or anything. He gathered his books and things at a normal pace and swung his bag over his shoulder, walking through the classroom as if nothing was wrong.

“Dan,” Phil pleaded. “ _Listen_  to me…” He paused as he walked out of the room, finding Dan standing still. Momentarily, excitement rushed through him—Dan was finally going to listen!—but it was quickly replaced with dread.

Dan was standing still, facing Piers. Phil immediately crossed his arms.

“Go away, Piers,” he snapped, and Piers looked at him, amused.

“I think Dan can handle himself—can’t you Dan?”

Instead of bothering to acknowledge him—either Piers or Phil—Dan spun and walked away, looking bored and completely unaffected by the confrontation. Piers scoffed and turned to Phil.

“What’s up with _him_?”

Phil just rolled his eyes and rushed after Dan, except Dan was short and skinny and had already disappeared into the multitude of people around.

Phil even tried to follow Dan home after school—another plan which didn’t work.

“Dan, c’mon,” Phil whined. “I’m _sorry_. Just talk to me.” Dan would do no such thing, however. He wouldn’t even look at Phil, much less talk to him. And when they got to his house, he slammed the door in Phil’s face. When Phil knocked, nobody answered, as Dan’s mum wasn’t home from work yet.

It continued in this manner for the next few days. Disconcertingly, Phil realized that it didn’t even have anything to do with him when Dan finally did end his icy ignorance—it was entirely up to Dan. Phil didn’t apologize perfectly, didn’t pester Dan into acknowledging him. No, Dan just came to school one day and stood beside Phil before class. Phil decided not to acknowledge what had happened over the past week, and Dan did the same.

Still, Phil was almost embarrassingly relieved when Dan actually spoke to him after school—he’d been starting to forget what his voice sounded like.

Dan talking to him again was good timing as well, as the science fair was now just around the corner and though Phil had signed up, he hadn’t actually planned anything yet. This wasn’t a rare occurrence for him—he’d been procrastinating doing the science fair since nearly the first time he ever did it—and was now almost used to the feeling of stress and panic that accompanied him as the days before the science fair grew shorter.

Thankfully, Dan had no qualms about helping him out with it, and together they worked after school, brainstorming ideas and finally building the one they picked. They ended up creating a device similar to a laser pointer, except instead of a beam of light, the device would shoot an invisible, ultra-powerful magnetic beam onto the target, infusing it with magnetic energy. Thus, the pointer was then able to move whatever object it was being pointed at.

Phil loved creating things, and Dan was ingenious enough to help, which turned them into a pretty good team. They had lots of fun with their invention too, managing to summon things from across the room and even, on one occasion, making Dan float in the air. It only managed to work for so long, however, before Dan came crashing back to the ground.

When it was time for the science fair, Phil stood proudly beside his station, unable to help his gaze moving anxiously around the room, examining all the cool things kids older than him had managed to create. Dan wandered through the room, studying everyone else’s inventions before eventually returning to Phil.

“You should win,” he said quietly. He always spoke quietly when they weren’t alone. It managed to surprise Phil a lot of the time too, because they could go from screaming and laughing in his bedroom to practically whispering in public. Plus, it wasn’t like Phil hadn’t noticed that Dan usually chose to speak slowly, and almost always looked like he was thinking about exactly what he was going to say before he said it. Phil couldn’t imagine caring that badly about what he sounded like, but he didn’t begrudge Dan for it.

“Really?”

“I think so,” Dan said with a nod. “Number eleven—over there—” Dan nodded towards a booth a fair distance away from them—Phil was number twenty three.“—might come close, but I think yours is the best.”

Unable to control his excitement, Phil tugged Dan into a sudden hug, who came compliantly, blushing all the while.

“I hope you’re right,” Phil conveyed, and Dan smiled up at him.

When the judges came, they were all incredibly impressed with what he had managed to make. He used it to lift the objects he’d brought along for the demonstration, and even to lift one of their ties, which made them all ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ between bouts of laughter. One judge leaned down close to Phil to relay: “An _incredible_  invention young man—what’s your name?”

He and Dan stood shoulder to shoulder, bouncing with excitement, when the judges finally got on the stage to present the awards. The whole gymnasium fell silent as the lights dimmed, and a microphone was run out to judges.

“In third place,” the balding judge said dramatically, and the room was silent, as if everyone was simultaneously holding their breath. The other judges stood along the side of the stage, almost hidden in the dark as their spokesperson stood in the spotlight to present the awards.“Number forty-four, Eric Mason!” Applause broke out, and Phil shared an excited look with Dan. Assuming he did better than Eric Mason, he was now in the running for first and second place…

The judge went on to explain Eric’s invention, some kind of helicopter thing that Phil could care less about when he was this full of nerves. It took about two minutes before they were done praising the invention.

“And now, in second place!” the judge continued. Dan surprised Phil but reached out and gripping his hand, but Phil just squeezed it back in response. “Number twenty-three, Phil Lester!”

Phil tried to hide how crestfallen he felt as applause broke out around the room. Dan’s accompanying gasp easily relayed his surprise, and Dan slipped his hand out of Phil’s. People all around the room were turning to look towards his set up, towards his invention, as the judge explained it and how ingenious it was.

 _Not ingenious enough for first place_ , Phil thought bitterly. It was ridiculous of him. Second place was _good_ , it really was, but he couldn’t help the fact that he’d been hoping to come in first.

He turned to Dan, not even entirely sure of what he was going to say, only for his eyes to widen in surprise. Dan was gone.

Had Phil been so caught-up in his self pity that he hadn’t noticed Dan leaving? Or had Dan been annoyed by the fact that he was upset for not getting first, and left? Or maybe he didn’t want to be seen standing next to Phil’s stand, mere second place…

Suddenly, there was a commotion up on stage, and one of the other judges came running towards the presenter, before hastily whispering into his ear.

“What? Are you sure?” the balding judge said, loud enough that it was picked up by the microphone and broadcasted to the entire room.

Phil was startled as someone banged into his shoulder, but it was only Dan.

“Where’d you go?” he whispered.

“Dire urge to pee,” Dan dramatically conveyed. He was panting—he must have run back from the bathroom. “What’s going on up there?”

“Dunno…”

“So sorry folks—my cards got mixed up. This is completely embarrassing you see, but Phil Lester actually got _first_  place.”

For a moment, there was stunned silence, and Phil felt his jaw drop. What _luck_! Confused applause followed, and Phil momentarily felt bad for whatever person was now second place, but he turned to Dan in excitement.

“Can you believe it?!” he exclaimed.

“Hardly,” Dan answered, but Phil had already pulled him into a hug and jumping up and down.

Later, with his blue first place ribbon pinned to his shirt and his magnetic laser pointer lifting up every inconsequential thing in his path, he turned to Dan. “Want to come out to dinner with me and my mum?” he asked. It was a celebratory dinner, one that his mother had informed him of before he left for the science fair, regardless of whether he won or not.

“I don’t know…” Dan said now, kicking a rock down the sidewalk. Phil pointed at it and swung it into the air. “I just don’t feel too well, you know?”

“What?”

“Stomach ache,” Dan muttered. Phil studied Dan’s face and couldn’t help but feel like he looked guilty.

“Hey,” he said, and he stopped walking, causing Dan to do the same. “About what you did…”

“ _What?_ ”

“I don’t mind that you missed the judge’s reviews,” Phil said with a shrug. “A man’s gotta pee when a man’s gotta pee. Stop looking so guilty.”

Dan’s eyes widened, and he nodded. “Er—yeah. That. I _am_  sorry, you know.”

“Don’t be,” Phil answered, and he swung his arm around Dan’s shoulders as they walked. Dan stumbled a little, but he quickly righted himself, his cheeks tinged pink. “So you can’t come to dinner then?”

Dan blinked, looking dazed. “Oh! No—I mean yes, actually. I can come.”

“But what about your stomach ache?” Phil questioned, frowning in confusion.

“It’s gone,” Dan said firmly. “Now where are we going for dinner?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys just a general warning for injury/blood in this chapter

Dan wanted to break something. Or kill somebody. Or blow something up.  
   
All he knew was that he was full of this horrible, restless energy, and it was Phil Lester’s fault. In the span of five minutes, Dan felt like his entire world had been flipped, his reality now resting on the edge of a coin. It just didn’t make _sense_.  
   
Sure he’d known, when he was ten, that Phil was moving to London. He’d even known as he himself was moving to London that it was likely his childhood friend still lived somewhere in the city. The knowledge hadn’t done anything to deter him, nor to encourage him. He’d just acknowledged it, and then set it aside, uncaring. Where Phil Lester lived was no care of his—except for now, now that the man himself had come up and invited Dan for _coffee_.  
   
As a little kid, Dan had had a massive crush on Phil. The kind of crush that came with butterflies in your stomach and pink dusting your cheeks, with sweaty palms and stuttered words and embarrassing truths. He’d gone as far as to keep a diary, simply so he could tell _something_  about how he felt.  
   
But that had been then. That had been his ten year old self, full of completely different ambitions and dreams. This was _now_. And twenty-two year-old Dan didn’t need to go on a date with his childhood crush—twenty-two year-old Dan needed to not talk to anyone ever, preferably. It made the whole not caring about things much easier. Made the ignoring his underlying morals and turning a blind eye at the inklings of guilt he felt much more feasible.  
   
Not to mention the fact that talking to people made him anxious. Not in the general, anxiety-disorder kind of anxious—though Dan had had that too. It’d taken a long and annoying amount of time for him to stop sweating and shaking at the thought of asking a barista for a coffee (not talking for several years, it turned out, could carry lasting effects). But no, this wasn’t like that. Especially not with Phil—the first person Dan was able to speak around after his period of selective mutism. This was different. This was anxious in the way that his mind whirled, wondering if talking to Phil, to a person who had known him _then_ , could see a difference in him _now_.  
   
Being the Panther was his biggest secret. It was the secret of all secrets, the type you tried to carry to your grave, though Dan was aware that it rarely happened like that for the bad guys in the movies—they almost always got caught.  But still, he didn’t feel inclined to let anyone know that he was the Panther, the person terrorizing the city and causing chaos and uproar at every available opportunity. That knowledge was solely for him to enjoy.  
   
Dan shivered at the thought of Phil finding out about about him. Sweet, smart Phil. He remembered him from sixth grade, two years his senior but about level with him in terms of intelligence, which had been one thing that had drawn Dan to him immediately. It’d been rare for him to find someone who could match his brain, his thought processes, and Phil hadn’t just matched it; he’d aided it. They’d worked as a wonderful team—most of the time, anyway. There’d, of course, been those moments when Dan had sulked and ignored Phil for days on end. But when he wasn’t avoiding Phil, they were working together like Batman and Robin, like Sherlock and Watson, like two meant to be a team if there ever was one. And then Phil had moved. And Dan had become the Panther (not _immediately_ , of course. There’d been a bit of a transitional period, but still).  
   
It was odd, to think that while Dan was out terrorizing the city, Phil was one of its inhabitants, likely cowering in his apartment and hoping that Dan didn’t blow up his complex. Not that Dan ever _would_. He only blew up things that needed to be blown up, obviously. Some people had recognized this, too. There were those out there who advocated for the Panther, who Dan regarded with a mixture of perverse satisfaction and unease, because really, who would be advocating for _him_? The _bad guy_?  
   
He wasn’t sure if reconnecting with Phil was a good idea. His best bet would be to go out for this coffee with him, consume his caffeinated drink as quickly as humanly possible, and disappear back into the shadows forever and lose touch with Phil once more to safely resume his practices as the Panther. He couldn’t afford to be close to someone, after all. He had no interest in having to plan his more nefarious activities around the plans of another living, demanding person.  
   
“I know this really neat little coffee place just around the corner,” Phil said conversationally. As they walked, their shoulders accidentally bumped. Dan flinched, but Phil didn’t appear to notice. “It’s actually the perfect location if you think about it. You can get a book from the library and then read it there.”  
   
“Do you go to the library a lot?” Dan asked quietly. It felt weird to speak without wearing his mask. He spoke a lot as the Panther. He held long, winding, taunting conversations with the Raven, and he persuaded citizens and yelled at police. But without his mask, as a simple young adult, he rarely spoke. He spent the majority of his time in his apartment scheming and planning, and otherwise tended to hang out in the library, consuming books by the dozen. Though he’d taunted the Raven about harming the library, he never would've actually done so. The fact that so many could convene there and gather knowledge for absolutely no cost at all seemed incredible to him. Today Dan had only stolen a book, a mental _fuck you_  to the Raven, if you will.  
   
“Not really,” Phil answered, sounding almost abashed. “I don’t really read much—don’t have time. Today was kind of a fluke. I was just curious if… someone else… would be there.”  
   
Dan hummed. “Who were you looking for?”  
   
“Doesn’t matter,” Phil said, turning to look at him with a soft smile. “‘Cause I found you instead.”  
   
The effect of those words on Dan was immediate. Blood rose to his cheeks, and Dan found himself having to avert his gaze. “Doesn’t seem like a very good trade off to me,” he laughed.  
   
“Trust me, it was,” Phil promised. “That other guy’s a bit of a dick.”  
   
“Can’t imagine why you’d be meeting him then,” said Dan, and Phil grinned.  
   
“I have so much I want to tell you,” he said reverently. They were waiting at a crosswalk now, people gathered all around them. The white signal flashed, and they stepped into the street with everyone else.  
   
“Oh really?”  
   
“Of course,” Phil breathed. “I wish it hadn’t been so long. It’s crazy—I almost feel like I’m dreaming.”  
   
Despite himself, Dan wasn’t dreading every word Phil said, wasn’t finding him annoying or wishing he was gone. He was—dare he think it— _enjoying_  himself. It was absurd and ruinous, but he couldn’t help what he felt.  
   
He also couldn’t help noticing the fact that, as an adult, Phil was incredibly attractive. In Dan’s fuzzy recollection, he was tall (taller than Dan, anyway), scrawny, and wore glasses almost too big for his face which insisted on sliding down to the end of his nose, resulting in Phil constantly shoving them back up again.  
   
Now, Phil was still taller than Dan, except he was _much_  taller. He’d grown like a weed, meanwhile Dan had stopped growing in the eighth grade. He was bigger in general too—broader and stronger looking. He had well defined muscles everywhere Dan could see; he must work out a lot. Dan knew he wouldn’t be in the shape he was if he weren’t constantly running all over the place in costume.  
   
“You’ve stopped wearing your glasses,” Dan observed, having been studying Phil out of the corner of his eye.  
   
“I have,” Phil responded. “Most of the time, anyway. I still have my glasses somewhere in my flat if I want to wear them.”  
   
“I liked your glasses,” Dan admitted. “They made you look smart.”  
   
“And now I look dumb?” Phil joked. Dan was quick to share a grin with him. It was scary, how natural this felt, how familiar. He’d heard about friends not seeing each other for years and years, until they were reunited and clicked just like two puzzle pieces, but he never would’ve expected that for himself and Phil. To think that all this time he’d thought that, given enough time, he and Phil would’ve drifted apart anyway, when now it was seeming exactly the opposite. Perhaps they would’ve grown closer. Way closer.  
   
“Totally,” Dan giggled.  
   
“I missed you,” Phil said, some minutes later. He bumped his shoulder into Dan’s.  
   
 _Loathe as I am to admit it, I did too,_  Dan thought as he smiled at his friend. _His friend_.  
   
—  
   
Dan rushed up the steps to his shabby flat, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand as he unlocked the door with the other. He kicked off his shoes once he was inside, slamming the front door behind him and sliding down the halls in socked feet to get to his bedroom. There, he stripped completely and struggled into his latex, protective suit and threw his clothes to the floor.  
   
He had plans for tonight. He’d already persuaded a few people ahead of time, and if he didn’t hurry he wouldn’t be there when everything came to light. It wasn’t his fault, of course—it was bloody Phil Lester’s!  
   
Phil, with his charming smile and bright eyes and deep laugh. Phil, with his “oh, you have to leave already?”s and his “I could buy you another coffee…?” Phil, with the small, stupid, adorable cheer he’d done when Dan agreed for “just one more” _three separate times_.  
   
Dan was running _late_. And the Panther _never_  ran late—the Panther was punctual; always on time and always ready to do something menacing.  
   
Huffing, Dan ran a hand threw his hair and stepped in front of the mirror. It was already getting dark outside, so he put in his cat-eye contacts, blinking as his eyes adjusted, becoming ten times sharper. Colors looked weird and different, but once he was outside, in the night, he would be seeing better than anybody else. Next he slid on his cat-ears, shaking his head as his hearing suddenly sharpened. Putting on the ears felt like stepping out of a fog, one where everything was strangely muffled.  
   
Hurrying now, Dan secured a small chip inside his mouth behind one of his molars. It was impossible to feel or detect in any way, but to anyone listening to him, his voice would appear different to how it naturally sounded, which was all that mattered.  
   
Lastly, Dan settled his mask onto his face. It gripped his skin with minuscule gripping fibers that wouldn’t release until Dan pulled his mask off at exactly the right angle—kind of like a magic trick he’d once seen as a kid, where a man had put a box down on the ground, asked an audience member to lift it, and then laughed when the volunteer was unable to do so.  
   
Suitably costumed, Dan rushed through his house, glancing at his watch and cursing under his breath at the time. It was five past eight, and he was supposed to be on the way side of town in about ten minutes, which wouldn’t be the easiest feat to manage. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Dan decided that he would have to take a taxi.  
   
With a surreptitious glance out of his apartment door, he hurried up the stairs and continued through the building until he was on the roof. There were few people that lived in the same complex as him, and for some extremely odd reason, Dan was sure, they’d all decided to purchase the apartments below Dan.  
   
Once on the roof, Dan jumped to another, and another, until he was a good few buildings away from his home and was climbing swiftly down a brick wall into an alley. Outside of it he could see several people bustling by, who didn’t notice him as he slunk through the shadows.  
   
One girl, who looked a few years younger than Dan, had her arm raised to hail a taxi. Dan leaned back and waited. He had eight minutes left.  
   
It took thirty seconds for a taxi to pull over for the young, pretty girl, and that’s when Dan struck. He sprinted out of the alley, shoved her out of the way, and dived into the taxi.  
   
“Drive,” Dan commanded. “Take me to West 22nd Street, and make it fast.” The man was staring at him in the rearview mirror, his eyes wide with fear. Dan sneered at him. “Or i’ll make you regret it.”  
   
With that, the man was speeding off into the traffic, the girl left on the sidewalk watching with wide eyes. As Dan watched, her figure shrinking as they drove farther away, she pulled out her cell phone and raised it to her ear.  
   
 _Good_ , Dan thought, uncaring. _Let the police come—I’ll give them a show_.  
   
The taxi driver didn’t make small talk with him as he drove, which Dan thought was a definite plus. He’d always hated that, and it made him feel uncomfortable more than anything else. Dan peered anxiously out the window at the passing buildings. They were already almost there, thanks to the man’s fear propelling them so quickly. He was weaving between cars recklessly, running red lights and passing people even when the road didn’t call for passing. Dan was pleased—he was in a hurry, after all.  
   
It was soon apparent that Dan was also careless. He was still staring out the window anxiously, thinking that they just might make it in time to his destination. They were almost there now, and he still had three minutes to spare.  
   
It was only thanks to Dan’s enhanced hearing that he was still alive. He heard the small click, and his head snapped around immediately, staring down the barrel of the gun as it was pointed at his face mere milliseconds before the man pulled the trigger.  
   
Adrenaline shot through Dan’s body, making his blood thunder past his ears. Instead of disarming the man, or slapping the gun away, Dan’s arm struck out without thinking, smacking the gun downward. And then he heard the bang, and the very next second felt it—splitting through his thigh. Pain erupted from the wound, as did blood, and Dan growled.  
   
“Fuck!” he spat, shaking his head to clear it of the hurt. He didn’t have _time_  for this! Normally, his suit would have repelled a bullet, but not even a bullet vest could defend against one fired at this range.  
   
Angered, Dan lunged forward and slammed the man’s head into his steering wheel. He then jumped out of the car, still slowly rolling forward, and sprinted around the last corner to his destination.  
   
His thigh throbbed with every step, but he ignored it as best he could. His suit was designed to hold tight to his skin, even after an injury, so hopefully that was doing enough to keep him from bleeding freely.  
   
Dan only had a minute to spare, and in the distance he could hear police sirens. They were calling his name, Dan was sure.  
   
With no time to waste, he scurried up the side of the building, eroded stone crumbling and falling beneath his fingers. It didn’t take him long to reach the roof, but by the time he did, he was breathless, bleeding, and in pain. Luckily, his subjects were already there.  
   
“Oh good,” Dan panted. “You’re here.” He took a step forward, eyes roving over their expressionless faces.  
   
“Hold it,” a familiar voice snapped. Annoyance flared through Dan, which wasn’t his usual reaction to hearing the Raven. He guessed it made sense, though. Here he was, running late and bleeding, and he hadn’t even gotten to cause any trouble yet.  
   
“Now’s really not the best time, Raven,” Dan informed, twisting to look at him. The Raven rolled his eyes. Dan could hear the sirens growing closer.  
   
He’d been planning a good, elaborate speech, but it was starting to look like he wasn’t going to have time for that. “Fine!” Dan snapped, now staring at his three subjects. “Just—go. Do it now.”  
   
“Yes sir,” they answered in unison, and then they were sprinting towards the edge of the roof.  
   
“Fuck!” Raven hissed, and he sprinted forward after them. His cape wings shot out, and he flew towards the end of the roof, gathering speed. Wind buffeted Dan as he passed, and the Raven managed to grab two of the three subjects and restrain them—two, but not all.  
   
Dan allowed himself a small smile as the remaining man jumped, plummeting off the edge of the roof.  
   
“No!” the Raven cried. He jumped off after him, still carrying the two other men in his arms.  
   
Given a moment to breathe, Dan hunched over, clenching his eyes shut. His leg was really, really throbbing now, and he was starting to suspect that that driver had hit bone. He wouldn’t be able to go to the hospital, of course—doctors and nurses everywhere would be on the lookout for injuries that matched the taxi driver’s description—and so he’d have to do something about it himself.  
   
Despairingly, Dan realized that his suit wasn’t exactly performing its job very well either. Blood was steadily pouring down his leg, and when he tried to press down on it, to staunch the flow, he couldn’t maintain the pressure. It hurt too much.  
   
Luckily, the Raven likely wouldn’t be able to see the puddle of blood forming beneath Dan and wouldn’t be able to sense his weakness because of it.  
   
The sirens reached a crescendo, and Dan sat down on the edge of the roof, wincing, to watch everything unfold. Police piled out of their cars, looking all around and scanning the rooftops, Dan’s signature place to be seen. He must’ve been well tucked into the shadows, however, as their gazes slid right past him.  
   
The Raven emerged from the alley way, then, his arms still secure around two of the men, the third one trailing slowly after him, looking lost. Dan grinned.  
   
“It’s the Raven!” one of the policemen cried, and Dan heard a mix or reactions, even from several stories up. Generally, people were delighted and relieved that the Raven was there to help, but there were the few that grumbled under their breath of the stupid, attention-stealing, unneeded hero. Dan didn’t think the Raven was unneeded—he thought he was the only match for him.  
   
“You’ve done it!” another policeman cheered. Raven stopped, surprised, and glanced at the men he held.  
   
“I have?”  
   
“You’ve caught the Panther’s accomplices!” the officer exclaimed. “How’d you do it?”  
   
Raven looked bewildered, and rightfully so. None of these men were Dan’s accomplices, and none were wanted criminals either, which was exactly what all these officers thought. See, Dan had snuck into the sheriff’s department not too many days ago and told just a few of the right higher-ups that these three men were extremely wanted subjects, so high profile that their faces couldn’t be projected on the news, couldn’t be shown to the general public. Now, the entire police force, as was apparent, knew their names, their faces. And the Raven had captured them himself.  
   
“I’m not sure…” the Raven was saying quietly, but the officers were already hustling forward and handcuffing the three confused men. This would keep the Raven busy a while. It wouldn’t take him long, wouldn’t take him much investigation, to realize that these men were innocent. And then he’d have to convince the head of the police department of that fact, because there was no way he would let three innocent men rot away in their cells. And while the Raven was so wrapped up in that, Dan would be using his free-time to devise his biggest plan yet.  
   
Deciding that he’d seen enough, that his plans were already rolling smoothly, Dan got stiffly to his feet. His head gave a sudden throb at the quick motion and his stomach lurched. Dan stumbled forward, and for a sickening moment, he feared he might accidentally pitch himself off the roof.  
   
Just in time, Dan regained his balance and scrambled backward. He had to get out of there—had to return to his apartment, had to find the right serums.  
   
Limping worse with every step, Dan walked and then ran towards the edge of the building, leaping from one roof to the next. When he landed, pain shot up his leg, jarring him and making him unable to hold back a hiss, emitted between clenched teeth. He whimpered as he stepped then, doing his best to hold back gasps and whines as his leg pained with every step, seeming to spread up and down his body.  
   
Belatedly, Dan wondered if that bullet had been a normal bullet, or if it’d been coated in some kind of poison. Some people were known to do that, to ensure that their victims died even if their shot hadn’t hit a vital place.  
   
Now, fear was twisting in his stomach like snakes as he tried desperately to pick up his pace, to get back home.  
   
Apparently things weren’t looking up for him. The sound of footsteps exploded into existence on the roof behind him, and Dan groaned, realizing it was the Raven. He was likely here to demand to know what Dan had done and how he’d done it, and then, of course, he’d try to capture Dan. But now he _really_  wasn’t in the mood.  
   
Not wanting to be captured, Dan forced himself to run again, ignoring the hot tears that gathered in his eyes due to the pain. He jumped again, and despite being aware of the Raven behind him, hearing and seeing his every movement, Dan cried out. And then he stumbled forward again, running and running and running.  
   
“I’ll catch you, Panther!” Raven cajoled, and Dan shook his head feverishly. Never before had he felt like he might actually be defeated, but now things were beginning to look really, truly grim.  
   
Dan jumped again. Perhaps though, his body and mind couldn’t stand the thought of landing on his leg a third time, as he jumped short. He slammed into the wall of the next building, his thigh colliding with the wall and hurting even more than it had with every previous jump. Sobbing, Dan scrambled to hold onto the ledge, though his fingers were sweaty and bloody and he could feel himself slipping.  
   
The Raven landed mere inches before his fingers, and he grinned down at Dan triumphantly.  
   
“Give me one reason not to step on your fingers,” he demanded, his arms crossed victoriously. If he were in less pain, had lost less blood, Dan might’ve said something about the Raven’s morals, about how he was the _hero_. But Dan couldn’t. He could barely concentrate on anything, his entire mind pinpointed to the tips of his fingers, barely holding the rest of him up. His arms were shaking.  
   
His gear was designed to make him land on his feet, yes, but right now his pantleg was ripped from the bullet, and Dan wasn’t sure if that would affect its functioning. Not to mention the fact that he was pretty sure he would pass out from the pain if he landed on his feet from this height, his leg still hindered. No, falling was not an option.  
   
 _Neither is not falling_ , seemed to whisper his fingers.  
   
“Falling,” Dan whispered, delirious. The Raven squinted.  
   
“What?”  
   
Dan closed his eyes, feeling his fingers slipping, slipping, slipping. The pain was too great, the struggle too much. He simply _couldn’t_  anymore.

“Falling,” Dan repeated.

And then he fell.


	6. Chapter 6

**TWELVE YEARS EARLIER:**

"You're the bad guy," Phil instructed, pulling a fuzzy brown blanket around his shoulders like a cape. Dan frowned.  
   
"I don't want to be the bad guy," he protested, and Phil huffed in exasperation.  
   
"You can be the good guy next round," he promised.  
   
"No."  
   
"Dan, come on," Phil pleaded, but Dan shook his head.  
   
"I don't want to be the bad guy," he repeated seriously. Rolling his eyes, Phil ripped off the cape and tossed it to Dan.  
   
" _Fine_ ," he said. "But you can't be the good guy forever."  
   
—  
   
Dan lay curled in a ball, unable to sleep. He’d been having trouble with it a lot recently—ever since the science fair. It’d been months, and still what he’d done haunted him, seeping into his thoughts and dreams and poisoning them. He knew what he’d done wasn’t right, but... Well, Phil had looked so happy. How could that be wrong?  
   
He clenched his eyes shut, fisting his hand in his comforter and trying to forget. He'd heard Phil's name, heard that he'd gotten second place, and seen his expression. His smile had been fake, his eyes belying his disappointment. And that was all it'd taken before Dan was slipping away, squeezing through the crowd of people.  
   
He'd gone right up to the judges by the edge of the stage, all watching the proceedings with interest. Still no one had noticed him, as he was short and skinny and hardly a threat, hardly worth noticing.  
   
"The invention is a marvelous piece of technology, developed by a young man of only _twelve_..." the judge was blathering on.  
   
Dan, his mouth turned down in determination, had marched forward and tapped one of the judges firmly on the shoulder. He spun.  
   
"Yes? What is it young man?"  
   
"You've made a mistake," Dan informed him. "Phil Lester came in first place, not second." The man took on a look of confusion, for a moment, before twisting his neck to look at the stage.  
   
"By God, we have..." he muttered. "Oh dear, this will be most embarrassing..."  
   
"It'll be okay," Dan reassured. "Just go and tell that man of the mistake."  
   
With that, the judge had crossed the stage and whispered into the presenter’s ear, while Dan quickly maneuvered back through the crowd to Phil's side. It hadn’t taken long for the guilt to set in, and he'd felt sick to his stomach the whole night afterwards.  
   
_I won't do it again,_  Dan, now, thought viciously. _That was a one time thing and I won't do it again._  
   
In the few months since the science fair, Dan had just wanted to lock himself in his room and despair over his actions while Phil had been filled with delight and wanted to be in Dan's company more than ever. This led to a few stupid fights and disagreements, which always ended up with Dan ignoring Phil’s presence entirely for a few days on end. Sometimes he’d do this even without Phil having done anything to annoy him, because he would remember that it was entirely _Phil’s_  fault that he’d gone and used his power at the science fair in the first place.  
   
If Phil hadn’t been so determined to be his friend, so persistent and annoying, Dan never would’ve become so attached to him. He wouldn’t have felt his heart clench at the sight of Phil’s disappointment when second place had been called, and he wouldn’t have shoved his morals into the backseat in order to make his crush smile. Dan was an idiot.  
   
Usually his bouts of ignoring Phil ended when Phil’s determination outgrew his patience. Phil would continually pester him and follow him and do whatever it took to get his attention, even making it so Dan couldn’t walk home by using the magnetic laser pointer on him (this had actually not worked well to resolve Dan’s anger and had led to Dan ignoring Phil for an entire week longer, glaring at the other boy whenever he happened to make eye contact). Still, Dan was always relieved when these periods of time came to an end, as was Phil. It would end without an apology of any sort, instead just with Dan mentioning something in passing to Phil, who would cling to his words like a lifeline. Usually, Dan ended up getting hugged at the end of it all too, which he didn’t mind one bit.  
   
Worse than all of it, Dan was sure, was his crush on Phil. It seemed to be growing without abandon, to the point where his heart always felt full to bursting when he thought of Phil. He found himself wishing he could call Phil his boyfriend, could hold his hand and kiss his cheek and maybe, one day, his _lips_. He was pretty sure Phil had absolutely no idea of his feelings for him, as he continued on with their friendship as obliviously as ever.  
   
Thinking of Phil was nice, of course, but it wasn’t helping him fall asleep. Instead his heart was pounding and his lips were curling into a smile as he fantasized about the other boy. He imagined Phil riding up to his house atop a white horse (despite the fact that he was afraid of them) and demanding for Dan to join him.  
   
“But why?” Dan would ask.  
   
“Because I’m madly in love with you,” Phil would answer. And then his horse would gallop into the sky, pulling up next to Dan’s window, and he’d pull Dan onto it and they’d ride it to the moon.  
   
Dan gasped, suddenly jerking awake. It was that kind of feeling where you weren’t even sure if you’d managed to sleep in the first place, though the clock across the room assured Dan he had. He groaned internally, wondering how long it would take him to fall back asleep now. It’d already taken long enough the first time.  
   
Breathing out heavily, Dan flipped over onto his other side. Sleep seemed like a distant thing once again, and he didn't know what he would accomplish by clenching his eyes shut and hoping it would take him, though he did so anyway. He jolted when he heard a sudden _thunk_ , quickly sitting up and looking around his room. It didn't seem as if anything had fallen off his shelves, and there weren’t any murderers standing over him with a knife, but he still managed to feel uneasy. Dan began to settle back down when he heard it again, this time a _tink_.  
   
And then, in rapid succession, two, three, four of those noises followed, and Dan was now looking out his window, wondering if it could possibly be...?  
   
A smattering of pebbles exploded against the glass, and Dan stared incredulously out of it. He undid the latch and threw it open, leaning out to see Phil standing on his front lawn.  
   
"Phil?!" he said, and Phil grinned at him.  
   
"Let's go on an adventure!"  
   
"It's like, the middle of the night!" Dan hissed. "My parents’ll wake up when I open the front door."  
   
"Then climb out the window," Phil persuaded.  
   
"Are you crazy? I'll _die_!"  
   
"I'll float you down," Phil promised, and before Dan could protest, he was pointing the magnetic laser at Dan, who immediately started to float out the window.  
   
He soon found himself standing barefoot on the dew-damp grass, shivering in his boxers and t-shirt. "You're mental!" he cried.  
   
"Shh," Phil instructed. "You'll wake your parents." He must've noticed Dan’s shivering, and, perhaps feeling guilty for kidnapping him in the middle of the night, he shrugged off his jacket and handed it to Dan. He tried not to blush as he pulled on the soft, warm material—warm from _Phil's body_. They rarely shared clothes, and Dan was already trying to devise a plan to make Phil let him keep it.  
   
"Where are we going?" Dan asked, as Phil grabbed his hand and led him to the sidewalk, which was cold under Dan's feet. It was a new moon, and Dan could barely see a thing, the only light coming from the twinkling stars above and the dim lamps above the doors of the surrounding houses. He squinted in the dark, trying to make out Phil properly. It would be a lot easier if he were a cat, or something—they practically had night vision.  
   
“It’s a surprise,” Phil said seriously, and Dan groaned.  
   
“I’ve never snuck out of my house before,” he conveyed. Phil nodded importantly.  
   
“Of course not, you’re only ten.”  
   
Dan spluttered indignantly. “ _You’re_  only twelve!”  
   
“True,” Phil conceded, “but that’s two more years I’ve had to be sneaking out of my house.”  
   
They continued down Dan’s street and through his neighborhood, taking random turns until they came to a creek, trickling quietly in the silence of the night. Crickets were chirping in the grass, and Dan swallowed his protests as Phil directed them down the thin, overgrown gravel path that led to the water. There were rocks in it, just large enough and far enough apart from each other for some determined kid to jump from one to the next—with only a major possibility of falling in.  
   
Dan cringed as the tall grass around them brushed against his ankles. “I think maybe you weren’t thinking about ticks when you took me out here,” Dan said primly. “Not to forget mosquitos—both of which suck your blood. Speaking of, what if there are vampires out here? Or werewolves?”  
   
“It’s not a full moon,” Phil answered.  
   
“What about all the other good points I brought up?”  
   
“If you get bit by a tick I’ll pull it out myself,” Phil promised. He paused at the water’s edge, gazing down into it.  
   
Despite all of Dan’s complaining, he felt rather special that Phil had decided to pull him from his bed at night, simply to have his company. What other kid could say that their best friend liked to be with them so much that they’d snuck out in the middle of the night to be together? And more than that—it was his _crush_  that’d done it. Dan still tried to ignore it, but every time Phil touched his hand, or tugged on his arm, he felt jittery all over and found it hard to breathe. Still, he didn’t know if he would ever do anything about that. There were always the mean kids at school who used gay as an insult, and Dan didn’t know if he’d ever be comfortable with anyone knowing that about him. Besides what if Phil thought the same thing all the others did? Not that Dan really thought Phil might… he was definitely as smart as Dan, both of them way smarter than everyone else in their grade. Surely the smartest thing to do was be accepting of all people, regardless of their differences?  
   
But fear didn’t respond to logic. Dan could barely think about the word in proximity to himself, much less dare to utter it aloud. Surely, one day, he would tell his parents. And maybe Phil, but… well, not today. Not anytime soon.  
   
“What are we doing out here, Phil?” Dan asked, and Phil reached out for his hand again. Dan felt the heat rise rapidly to his cheeks, but he held Phil’s hand firmly in his own as Phil leaned a little bit further over the water, examining it thoroughly. He finally took a step back, turning to face Dan.  
   
“Well, I’m partly testing a hypothesis,” he said, and Dan cocked his head.  
   
“What hypothesis?” Normally Phil would tell him things he was experimenting on—it was rare for Dan to be left out of the loop.  
   
“I’ll tell you later,” Phil said. He was examining Dan’s face pretty thoroughly, almost as intently as he’d been observing the water. They were still holding hands. “But I’m pretty sure I’m right. Mainly, though, we’re here because I made you something.”  
   
“What’d you—?”  
   
“You’ll see.” He took a deep breath, before opening his mouth as if to tell Dan something. Apparently, he lost his nerve as he turned back to the water, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pajama pants. He couldn’t have been comfortable—it was cold out, and Dan was wearing his jacket. “Dan,” he said quietly. “I have to tell you something.”  
   
“You can tell me anything,” Dan said reassuringly. “If you want to,” he hastily added. Some small, desperate part of him was hoping—wishing, really—that Phil was going to say he was gay, just like Dan. That part of him was crushed.  
   
“I’m moving,” said Phil. For a moment, Dan didn’t dare to process it. And then the world came crashing down. The stars plummeted to the earth and the trees tilted, their roots wrenching from the ground. The water before them exploded into the air, joining the falling stars, all whipping around them in a whirlwind of noise. Dan blinked. The trees were still, his clothes dry, the stars stationary in the sky.  
   
“ _What_?” he croaked.  
   
“I’m sorry Dan,” Phil whispered.  
   
_You can’t_! Dan thought desperately, managing to stumble forward a step, trying to get closer to his best friend. Phil _couldn’t_  move! Dan’s whole life would be ruined, he just knew it! He hadn’t had any friends before Phil, and though he’d thought that was fine, thought _he_  was fine, he’d been completely wrong. There was _nothing_  like having a friend, someone you could talk to and confide in and play with. If Phil left, Dan just might never talk again. He wouldn’t have anyone to talk _to_.  
   
“No,” he finally managed to croak.  
   
“I don’t want to,” Phil quickly assured. Dan had stopped, after that first, lurching step. He still stood too far from Phil, his heart pounding viciously, aching inside his chest. He didn’t know what he wanted. Part of him longed to submerge himself in Phil’s arms and another part wanted him to run back home, to cry under his covers in the safety of his own bed.  
   
Phil decided for him. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Dan, who bit his cheek fiercely, determined to not cry. He didn’t want to appear like a baby, like a dumb kid who couldn’t even handle not having a friend around. He didn’t want Phil to think he was weak.  
   
Still, he allowed himself to be hugged, at least for a few seconds. Ten, perhaps. When a whole minute had gone by, Dan managed to take a shaky breath and pull out of Phil’s arms, his eyes thankfully still dry.  
   
“I should just tell your parents not to move,” he said mutinously, and Phil laughed, not understanding the weight of his words.  
   
“I’m sure that would work,” he said with a grin, though it was shaky. He was clearly just as upset about this as Dan was. He sighed. “I’ve already tried that.”  
   
“It’d be different if I did it,” Dan assured him, but Phil just shook his head.  
   
“It won’t. They won’t change their minds.” Phil was wrong. Dan could make them change their minds. He could make them do _anything_. But…  
   
He swallowed thickly. The last time he’d done it, had used his power, he’d felt guilty and upset over it for days, and it still crept back into his thoughts to torment him. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like, forcing Phil’s entire family to stay here. Was that the kind of guilt he could live through?  
   
“You said you made me something,” Dan suddenly remembered, and Phil’s face lit up.  
   
“I did! And, well, I’m not moving just yet, we’re waiting until summer, but, well—just in case.” Phil thrust out an object that looked similar to a pen.  
   
“What is it?”  
   
“A teleporter.”  
   
“ _What_?”  
   
“Well, I’m pretty sure,” Phil then said, looking abashed. “Either it’ll teleport you to me, or it’ll do nothing. But I’m pretty sure it’ll work.”  
   
“If you’re serious then you might just be the smartest person alive,” Dan conveyed earnestly, all thoughts of Phil moving having been shoved to the back of his mind. Or at least the side.  
   
“Not really,” Phil shrugged. “I’m positive teleportation devices have already been perfected, it’s just being kept from the public. Plus, real scientists’ ones will work better than mine—this thing’ll only work once, so you have to save it for an emergency.” He held up his own device as he spoke, and Dan eyed it reverently.  
   
Dan frowned, disappointed with the restrictions the device came with. He’d been hoping to use it frequently, to pop into existence by Phil’s side whenever he was feeling a bit lonely. “I guess I’ll save it then,” he promised, and Phil grinned.  
   
“Why are you moving, anyway?” Dan asked, subdued. Phil turned away from him, jumping onto the first rock in the creek.  
   
“My dad lost his job,” he answered, and jumped again. “Mum says there’ll be better job opportunities in _London_.” Dan could hear the resentment in his voice.  
   
“Maybe I’ll just kidnap you instead,” Dan proposed. He followed Phil, leaping from the bank to the rock, skidding slightly over the wet and muddy surface. “If I hide you away your parents will be forced to leave without you.”  
   
“Dan Howell,” Phil said seriously, and leaped further into the creek. It was funny, how the creek seemed smaller from the side. Now that Dan was practically in the middle of it, it seemed quite large. “I knew there was a reason you skipped two grades.”  
   
Dan laughed, and jumped again, his arms out for balance. As he landed on the rock, his left foot splashed into the freezing water. Dan tried to yank it out, but the mud was like glue, and he ended up losing his balance and rocking backwards. Arms swinging wildly like a windmill, Dan only had the chance to let out a small yelp before he was tumbling backwards.  
   
He cried out when his head hit something hard, but his mouth was instantly filled with water, tasting muddy and disgusting. He tried to spit it out, but more filled its place, and he was choking…  
   
Phil shouted something, and Dan was struggling upward, the creeks trickling current not-so-trickling once he was submerged in it, with his head pounding fiercely and his vision flickering. Suddenly, and coughing furiously, he was pulled from the water, Phil dragging to both of them, soaking wet, to the side of the creek. Dan lay there shivering, barely conscious, completely unaware when Phil left his side to run to the nearest house and call the police.  
   
Dan swam back into consciousness with the blaring sound of an ambulance and its flashing lights, and then he was being lifted and carried. _Where’s Phil_? He thought desperately. He felt the weight of Phil’s teleportation device in his pocket, and was filled with a sudden relief. He couldn’t help feeling glad he hadn’t been stupid enough to use it back there—God knew there was going to be a real emergency for it one day.


	7. Chapter 7

Normally, Phil considered himself a pretty rational person. From a young age he'd been interested in science and knowledge in general, and he'd striven to absorb whatever information he could, whenever he could. In doing so, he'd refined his mind and came to the conclusion that it was strong, capable and in perfect condition of making sensible decisions.  
  
And yet, as he saw the Panther's fingers slipping, his mouth turned down in pain, he stopped thinking. He stopped using his brain, so wonderfully honed, and just _moved_. The Panther slipped, his breath hitching in a quiet gasp, and something in Phil snapped.  
  
The Panther fell quickly, his legs not extended as they usually were when he fell. Then again, the Panther _had_ been limping as he ran, and he'd missed a jump, something he'd never done before. He was often leaping from rooftop to rooftop with Phil mere steps behind him, jumping as easily as others walked. The fact that he’d fallen short made it obvious—he was injured.  
  
Not thinking, Phil jumped off the roof, plummeting after the Panther. His cape extended into wings, and as he caught the Panther (his _enemy_ ) in his arms, he pulled up, soaring back into the sky, back to the tops of the buildings.  
  
His cape wasn't intended to hold more weight than his own, and as they leveled out over the roof, it gave out, and he and the Panther tumbled over each other, groaning as they rolled and slid along the hard surface. Phil sat up shakily, his body aching from the collision, and looked over at the Panther. He expected to see him already up and running, looking over his shoulder without a thank you. Instead, the Panther was collapsed in a heap, his hand pressed against his thigh and his breaths looking labored.  
  
Phil stood and walked towards the other man, who didn’t seem to register his presence. As Phil got closer, his shoe scuffed against a loose tile on the rooftop, and the Panther’s eyes shot open. Immediately, he scrambled onto his hands and knees, before rising shakily to his feet, his hand still pressed against his wound. Now that Phil knew it was there, he could see the blood, barely glinting in the little light given off from the moon. There was blood where the Panther had been lying as well, leaving Phil trying to comprehend how he was even standing right now, having lost so much.  
  
The Panther was standing defensively, looking about ready to sprint away. Phil knew he couldn’t, knew he was too injured to do so.  
  
“Come to gloat, Raven?” Panther panted. His eyes were wide and darting to the sides, as if looking for an escape.  
  
“What, no ‘thank you’?” Phil countered. The Panther smiled.  
  
“I suppose it was nice of you to catch me,” he said, and despite his injury, sketched a deep, mocking bow. “Could’ve really done a number on myself otherwise. And though I’m thankful, I really must be going…”  
  
“Not so fast,” Phil said instinctively, already darting forward. But whereas normally, darted forward resulted in the Panther turning and slipping away from him, now he just shut his eyes and flinched. Phil realized, then, how serious the injury was. He couldn’t even run, couldn’t get away.  
  
This was the perfect opportunity. Phil finally had an advantage, finally had the upper-hand. He could take down the Panther with hardly any effort at all! Phil had just made up his mind to finally use his ultra-strength hand cuffs when the Panther collapsed.  
  
All thoughts of capture fled from Phil’s mind, something for which he didn’t have an explanation. Instead, he found himself having sprinted to the Panther’s side and dropped to his knees beside him. A quick check of the other man’s wrist showed that he wasn't dead, and then Phil was reaching into his belt and pulling out a switchblade.  
  
Maybe there was something wrong with Phil. He spent all his time fighting and trying to capture the Panther, and here he had a perfect opportunity, and yet his body was betraying him. It was like some distant but annoyingly persistent voice was commanding him to save the other man, to keep him from dying.  
  
Phil flicked the knife open, the silver of its metal glinting in the moonlight.  
  
“Gonna kill me?” the Panther whispered, and Phil jerked, not having realized he was awake.  
  
Instead of answering, Phil moved the knife towards the cut of the Panther’s leg, who flinched. Phil cut off the fabric surrounding the injury—a bullet wound—and the Panther slowly opened his eyes, realizing that Phil had yet to murder him.  
  
If Phil didn’t help the Panther, no one would be able to. He wouldn’t be accepted into a hospital, much less able to make it to one. And it would have to be here, too, right on the roof. Phil couldn’t fly the other man anywhere—it was lucky that his cape had managed to carry them to where they were.  
  
Phil swallowed thickly. He shouldn’t be helping the Panther. He shouldn’t be _saving_ him. He should be chaining him down and turning him into the police, as any good superhero did when they caught the bad guy.  
  
But the Panther was taking quick, broken breaths, and Phil could see he was in pain just from the twist of his lips. His hands were shaking at his sides, and Phil knew he wouldn’t be able to do it, wouldn’t be able to not help him.  
  
He kept many supplies in his belt, which was lucky, really. He’d developed a few useful things in his time, including types of salves and sprays that would induce the healing cells in your skin to work at a faster rate, to regrow skin and knit wounds back together. Helping the Panther was just a matter of using tweezers to remove the bullet (the Panther groaned, his head thumping onto the roof floor) and spreading a salve over his leg. Phil watched as the injury slowly but surely started to close.  
  
“Don’t walk on it that much,” Phil instructed. “Once you get home, elevate it. If you overwork your leg your skin will break again.”  
  
“Why are you helping me?” Panther whispered. He reached out to touch his newly healed skin; Phil slapped his hand away.  
  
“Don’t touch.” Phil snapped. “...because I don’t want to win like this.”  
  
The Panther croaked a laugh. “That’s pathetic,” he said. It was also a lie, but Phil wasn’t going to tell him that. He didn’t know why he was doing it. It wasn’t some kind of misplaced sense of pride, wasn’t some sort of honor code. It was just… instinct, probably. It was something wrong with him, surely.  
  
“Sure, if that’s what you want to think,” Phil finally answered.  
  
“It’s true,” the Panther said. “You’ll never beat me normally. This is probably the best chance you’ll ever have to capture me.”  
  
“Are you trying to persuade me to capture you?” Phil asked, a trickle of fear running down his spine. The Panther had never persuaded him before, or at least, not that he knew of. He had no clue why—the Panther could win every single time if he just used it on Phil, but he didn’t. He didn’t persuade Phil to catch him when he was about to fall (though Phil caught him anyway) and he didn’t persuade Phil to leave him alone, to let him escape. Maybe he did have some sort of morals, deep inside.  
  
“Trust me,” the Panther said, “if I was persuading you, you would know.” Phil swallowed, goosebumps rising all along his skin. For the first time in a while, it hit him how truly dangerous this was. Every week, he went up against the Panther, putting himself in danger’s path. If the Panther wanted to, he could kill Phil. He could tell him to walk off the building's edge, and Phil was pretty sure that he would have to do it. Everyone else the Panther persuaded did what he said without a second thought, surely Phil wouldn’t be able to resist?  
  
Perhaps he should invest in a good pair of noise-cancelling headphones. The Panther couldn’t control him if he couldn’t hear him, right?  
  
“Why don’t you?” Phil asked. He was toeing the line now, he knew it. This entire situation was strange, too. He and the Panther had never _talked_ —not without insulting each other, now without the Panther outlining his evil plot or Phil chasing him down the street.  
  
“What, you want me to?” the Panther scoffed. Phil bristled.  
  
“Of course not,” he spat. “I just couldn’t help wondering why you never have. There must be some reason you don’t, right? Some sort of weakness…”  
  
“Shut up,” the Panther snapped, and Phil did. He was glad to. There really wasn’t any reason to speak anyway, was there? He could probably go the rest of his life without speaking, it would be easy, it would be _better_ , wouldn’t it?  
  
“Fuck! No, don’t shut up, don’t listen to me,” the Panther erupted, and Phil blinked, confused, before his mind cleared. He gasped, shooting to his feet. He hadn’t realized—not when… but _now_ he could tell—he’d been persuaded! Only for a few seconds, but still! Those seconds in his memory felt sluggish and slow, but when it’d been happening, he’d felt perfectly fine.  
  
“Fuck,” Phil panted, stepping back. “That’s—that’s not natural.”  
  
“No shit,” the Panther answered. But he looked more guilty than irritated, at least from the glint of his eyes and what else Phil could see of his face. He was still sitting on the ground, but now he was looking up at Phil—not something foreign to the other man.  
  
Phil didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to _do_. What do you say, to the person that just used their horrifying power on you? Not only used it on you, but used it seemingly by accident, and then appeared upset about it afterward?  
  
The Panther struggled to his feet, and Phil bit his lip, just barely managing not to tell him to stay where he was, his leg still needing to heal. The skin was together now, but it was still soft and malleable, easily broken.  
  
“I don’t use it on you because I don’t need to,” the Panther said harshly. “I can beat you without it. Besides, where would the fun in it be if you weren’t a bit of a challenge?”  
  
Phil felt cold all over. He’d known about the other man’s power, ability, invention— _whatever_ allowed him to do what he’d just done—but he hadn’t _understood_ it. The only reason he’d lasted this long against the Panther was because… the Panther had let him. He could be finished in seconds, and he only kept coming back because it was what the Panther wanted, apparently. Phil glared.  
  
No, he wouldn’t let that be the end of it. He wouldn’t be the Panther’s chess piece, free to move as he pleased. Phil would just have to try harder, to invent better things. He would take down the Panther without the help of some freaky ability.  
  
“I’ll defeat you,” Phil promised, and finally, the Panther grinned. He looked like his normal self, his cat eyes glinting in the moonlight, the upper half of his face obscured by his black mask.  
  
“Sure,” he agreed. “We’ll see.” And then he ran at Phil, who was so caught off guard by the Panther’s movements that he didn’t even have time to try to dodge. He was knocked to the ground easily, the Panther sitting on his chest and pinning him to the ground. Phil was bigger, yes, but the Panther was still strong. Phil could probably switch the positions, could twist them over so that he was trapping the Panther, but he didn’t doubt that the other man had some dirty tricks up his sleeve.  
  
“Thanks for healing me,” the Panther whispered in his ear.  
  
“You really shouldn’t be running on that yet,” Phil answered nonchalantly.  
  
The Panther ignored him. “Do you dream of us like this?” he inquired, his voice now sultry. Phil recoiled. And he cursed himself for not finding it completely, totally, entirely repulsive.  
  
“No,” he spat.  
  
“No?” the Panther whispered. “Do you dream of us like _this_?” Before Phil could even blink, the Panther had flipped them, and Phil was on top, the Panther’s hands firm on his waist. What did the Panther have to gain from this? Now Phil was pinning him, now he was winning.  
  
“No,” Phil answered again.  
  
“Liar.” The Panther lifted up with his hips, grinding them against Phil’s, who immediately flung himself away, his face red. “Liar,” Panther repeated with a smirk. He stood and walked towards Phil, who flinched, but he stopped a good few feet away.  
  
“See you later, Raven,” he said. “I look forward to you dominating me.”  
  


“ _What_?”  
  
“Didn’t you say you planned on winning?” Panther said innocently. He then ran, right towards the edge of the roof, and he jumped. Phil’s heart exploded in his chest, and he scrambled to the edge, looking down frantically, looking for—  
  
The Panther’s figure was weaving its way through the people on the street, but if Phil wasn’t mistaken, he was limping. “Idiot,” he whispered.  
  
\--  
  
Phil was excited. At the end of his coffee date with Dan, he'd managed to convince him to come over to his house. Today he was coming, and Phil had already talked him up to Remy, wanting his best friend from college to like his childhood best friend. It was a bit of a risk, inviting someone who knew nothing about his identity as the Raven into what was basically his bat-cave, but it was one Phil was willing to take.  
  
It was surreal, being back in contact with Dan. It gave him the kind of giddy feeling one usually associated with their crush, and he wanted to keep Dan within his sight at all times, afraid he would lose him again. The smaller boy had seemed a bit apprehensive when he'd first seen Phil, but after coffee (and more coffee) he'd warmed up and started laughing loudly, and had seemed almost reluctant to go before he'd finally left in a rush.  
  
"You need to calm down," Remy advised, sitting on the living room table even though there were two perfectly good couches beside it.  
  
"Not possible," Phil answered shortly, and she sighed.  
  
"It's going to be fine," she promised, and Phil just shook her head. It wasn't like Remy was a prophet, she couldn't know anything.  
  
Phil was pacing the entryway, waiting for Dan to arrive. Of course, he could've forgotten that they were meeting today, or even lost the address Phil had given him. Or there was the possibility that he'd just been pretending to enjoy Phil's company the whole time, and now wasn't even planning on coming at all. He'd probably thrown Phil's address, hastily scrawled onto a napkin, into the first trash can he'd passed after leaving. He probably--  
  
Phil jolted as a loud bell tolled through the room. The doorbell! Phil rushed to the door, Remy laughing at how frantic he was, and yanked it wide open.  
  
Dan blinked in surprise on the other side of the door--he was holding flowers.  
  
"Dan!" Phil said in surprise, and Dan swallowed thickly.  
  
"Um--housewarming gift," he mumbled, thrusting the flowers into Phil's hands.  
  
"I've lived here for years."  
  
"Yeah well, it's the first time I've ever seen it," said Dan, before bullying his way through the door. "Oh," he said, noticing Remy.  
  
"Hi, Dan!" Remy greeted, springing up from the table and walking purposely towards him. He held out his hand, a bit awkwardly, but she ignored it and pulled him into a hug. "Phil's told me so much about you," she said, grinning.  
  
Dan swallowed thickly. He looked nervous. Suddenly, Phil panicked. Did Dan still not talk? Had he only talked to Phil because... well, because he had when they were kids? He opened his mouth to apologize or say _something_ , but Dan beat him to it.  
  
"Likewise," he said a bit breathlessly, smiling back. This was a lie. Phil hadn't mentioned Remy at all when they were together--she'd completely slipped his mind. "I suppose I should've given those flowers to you."  
  
"'Cause I'm a girl?"  
  
Dan shrugged.  
  
"I'm allergic."  
  
Dan cleared his throat. "Right."  
  
"Dan, Remy. Remy, Dan," Phil said, gesturing between the two of them. Dan had an odd kind of expression on his face, his eyes darting between Phil and Remy importantly. Phil didn't understand.  
  
"So--I hear you're still in school, Dan?" Remy said. Dan blinked, looking confused.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Phil told me you were going for your masters," she answered slowly.  
  
"Oh! Yeah, I am," Dan said hurriedly, before shaking his head and smiling winningly.  
  
"Dan's some kind of genius," Phil interjected, failing to sense the tension that was beginning to build in the room. "He skipped two grades when we were young. We invented something together back in sixth grade."  
  
Dan laughed. "I almost forgot about that! Do you still have that thing?"  
  
"Somewhere around here, I'm sure."  
  
"Amongst all your other inventions?" Remy asked, and Phil's eyes widened for a moment, before he remembered that he'd invented things other than for combatting the Panther. It was rare, but it happened.  
  
"Still creating things Phil?" Dan said. "Me too, sometimes."  
  
"Wonder what we could make together," Phil said contemplatively, and Dan's eyes widened for a moment, before he nodded.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Remy was looking at Dan suspiciously, which Phil wanted her to stop doing immediately. Normally, she was really good at being social and befriending people.  
  
"Want a tour?" Phil suddenly blurted, and Dan nodded, although he might've just been jolting in surprise at the sheer volume of Phil's voice. "Do you want to get out the snacks and drinks?" Phil asked Remy, and she nodded, heading off to the kitchen while Phil dragged Dan in another direction.  
  
"So..." Dan said quietly, as they walked down a hallway. "Are you and Remy...?"  
  
" _What_?" Phil exclaimed, looking at Dan in surprise. He was blushing.  
  
"What?" he said defensively.  
  
"No we're not... _anything_ ," he finally answered. "Dan! I took you on a date just the other day."  
  
"Well I don't know!" Dan said. "You could've been joking, or, or _sharing_ or something."  
  
"No," Phil answered firmly. "Remy's just my friend. She's gay, anyway." Dan nodded thankfully.  
  
"This is Remy's room," Phil said, gesturing towards a closed door. "Here's the bathroom. And you already saw the living room, kitchen branching right off it. This one's my room," Phil said, opening the door and stepping inside. Dan followed, a blush prominent on his cheeks. He looked around curiously, and Phil thanked himself silently that he'd tidied up beforehand. He hadn’t known if he was going to show Dan his room or if that was too presumptuous. Before, there'd been stray parts and mechanics everywhere, but now they were all shoved into his office.  
  
"It's nice," Dan said a bit awkwardly. He glanced at the bed and away quickly. Phil dragged him back out of the room.  
  
"That's a storage closet," Phil said flippantly, pointing towards the door at the end of the hall. This was a lie, it was actually his office, but he wasn't about to show Dan that. Inside was his crazy mess of obsessive inventions and notes, all geared towards capturing the Panther.  
  
He felt a giddy feeling rise up in his chest at the thought of telling Dan he was the Raven, the hero the city revered and looked to in times of need, namely when the Panther was causing trouble. He and Dan made a great team, he knew from their time working together for the science fair, along with all the other hi-jinx they'd gotten up to as kids. They'd worked so quickly together, suggesting ideas and building on top of them like they were the machines, not whatever they were about to build. God, the Panther wouldn't stand a chance against the two of them together.  
  
Back in the living room Remy had piled chips in bowls and lined up bottles of liquor on the table, which she now wasn't sitting on. Instead, she was seated on the floor with her back against the couches.  
  
"We have seats for a reason," Phil pointed out, climbing onto the couch himself. He looked at Dan invitingly, who blushed and instead seated himself in a chair perpendicular to Phil.  
  
"I'm comfortable as I am," Remy answered, and she reached forward and poured them all a drink. "Do you like scotch Dan?"  
  
"Seems sophisticated," Dan said, but nodded anyway.  
\--  
  
"I'm just saying," Dan said, his eyes wide and gesturing more than usual. "I think that a real difference could be made. It's not like we even _need_ electricity anymore when we can just harness solar energy."  
  
" _Exactly_!" Phil exclaimed, sitting up onto his knees and pointing at Dan. "But the _scientists_ are hiding it from us!"  
  
"No," Dan said solemnly, shaking his head. "It's just that nobody cares, and so nobody's willing to make the change."  
  
Phil gasped. "I hate everybody." Dan nodded in agreement.  
  
"We'll probably make the switch at some point in our lifetimes," Remy said idly.  
  
"Maybe, but I want to help facil-- facilimate... facili _tate_ that change. I want to make a difference."  
  
"Me too," said Dan emphatically. " _Change things_."  
  
"God, I'm living with a revolutionary," Remy groaned.  
  
"I'll drink to that!" Dan shouted, and he thrust his cup into the air, his drink sloshing over the sides, and drank. Phil and Remy followed suit.  
  
"I have to pee," Dan then announced, and he set his glass down on the table, standing with a stretch. He quickly disappeared from the room, Remy's eyes trailing after him.  
  
"I'm gonna go change into something more comfortable," she relayed, and Phil nodded tiredly, resting his head back against the couch cushions. Dan returned first, and Phil smiled up at him as he entered the room.  
  
"You okay?" Phil asked, and Dan nodded.  
  
"Yeah I'm fine. But I should probably be getting--"  
  
"Listen--do you want to stay the night?" Phil interrupted.  
  
Dan's eyes grew impossibly wide.  
  
"Not sexual or anything," Phil promised. "Just like, like when we were little. Completely innocent."  
  
Dan hummed. "Alright. An innocent sleepover it is."  
  
Phil cheered, leaping to his feet. "But I mean it!" Dan called.  
  
Phil led the way to his room, Dan hot on his tail. Phil slowed as they passed Remy's room.  
  
"Remy?" he called, before knocking on the door.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'm going to bed okay?"  
  
"You or you and Dan?"  
  
"Shut up!" Phil laughed, and reached for Dan's hand to pull him into his room.  
  
Dan turned shy again once the door was closed behind him, and Phil smiled. "Innocent," he promised. And then he stripped off his shirt.  
  
Dan's eyes widened, taking in his body, before he blinked. "Right," he said. Together, the two of them stripped off their outer layer of clothing before climbing into Phil's bed. There was space between them, and Phil bridged the gap by pressing his toes against Dan's calves.  
  
"Your feet are cold!" Dan hissed, and Phil chuckled into the dark room.  
  
"Warm them up," Phil insisted. And then he scooted closer to Dan, their faces close to one another and their feet overlapping. Phil reached out a hand and brushed Dan's hair out of his face, and his eyes fluttered shut. His lips parted.  
  
"Phil," he whispered. "I don't know how innocent this is."  
  
Phil scooted closer still, winding his arms around Dan's body.  
  
"It's perfectly innocent," he announced, before pressing his face close to Dan's, edging his lips closer to his, their breaths intermingling. His lips were so close to Dan's, but not quite touching, not quite relieving the massive tension between them.  
  
Finally, Dan whined under his breath and pressed up, breathing out heavily as their mouths collided and Phil shoved his hand into Dan's hair. It only went on for a matter of seconds, but by the time they pulled away they were panting.  
  
"Okay," Phil whispered, panting against Dan's neck. "Now I can sleep."  
  
"You can sleep after _that_?!" Dan squeaked, and Phil chuckled against his neck, causing the other boy to squirm.  
  
"Yep," Phil answered. "Completely innocent."


	8. Chapter 8

**TWELVE YEARS EARLIER:**

Phil had never felt quite so guilty in his life.  
  
He was sitting the the hospital's waiting room, his shoes tapping rhythmically against the floor as he swung them. His pajama pants were still wet from the creek, sticking to him in a way that would've been annoying if he didn't have bigger problems on his mind. His mother was sitting in the seat beside him, reading a magazine, now, and Dan's father sat on the other side of her, waiting anxiously.   
  
Phil was just waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the screaming to begin. It was all _his_ fault. He was the one who'd dragged Dan out of bed in the middle of the night. He was the one who'd taken him down to the river, who'd held his hand to study his reactions and told him he was moving away, watching as Dan's eyes filled with tears that didn't fall. He was the one who'd hopped across the creek, who'd let Dan do the same. He was two years older than Dan, he should've been more responsible, more protective of him! Instead, he'd led him directly into danger. Instead, he'd let Dan hit his head and inhale water and wind up in an ambulance.   
  
The nice men in the ambulance had let Phil get in with them, as long as he stayed in the corner and didn't get in their way as they moved about the moving vehicle like a well-oiled machine. Phil had been sitting alone, anxious, in the waiting room when Dan's father had arrived. He had explained while holding back tears what had happened, and Dan's dad had pulled him into a hug and told him it would all be okay. The only thing Phil had been able to think was _why aren't you yelling at me?_   
  
_Tap. Tap tap. Tap_ , went Phil's feet. He was exhausted. He should've waited to tell Dan until the morning, but he hadn't been able to help it. His parents had told him just earlier that night, and he'd known he wouldn't be able to wait. He'd needed his best friend.   
  
For months, he'd been working on his teleportation device. He couldn't figure it out completely—he wanted to make it able to go anywhere any number of times. So far he could only make the user of the device teleport to himself, and only once. And so, knowing that he wouldn't be able to progress much further in the coming months, especially with thoughts of moving on his mind, he'd snatched it up. It would make a good enough gift for Dan.   
  
Now, Phil was kicking himself for all of it. He was too impulsive, too childish, too _stupid_ . For as long as he could remember, he’d wanted to grow up to be someone who helped people, who saved lives. That was why he loved science so much—he was absolutely certain that he could invent something revolutionary. But tonight, he’d almost killed someone. He’d almost killed _Dan_ .   
  
Just thinking about it now, Phil felt his throat grow tight, felt tears prickle behind his eyes.   
  
"Mr. Howell?" said a young woman, appearing in the doorway with a clipboard. She looked exhausted, as was expected from a nurse on the night shift, but she managed to dredge up a smile for the three who looked up eagerly at her words. "He's going to be just fine—you can come back and see him now."   
  
"Oh thank God," Mr. Howell breathed, and he stood quickly. Phil anxiously followed, as did his mother, her hand resting briefly on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. They all set after the nurse, their shoes the only noise in the empty hallways.   
  
“He hit his head pretty hard during the incident and is sure to have a concussion, but that should pass relatively quickly as long as he gets plenty of rest,” the nurse said, glancing over her shoulder from where she walked ahead of them.   
  
Dan's father nodded seriously, and Phil felt himself swallow thickly around a bump in his throat. He'd done that. He'd given Dan a concussion.   
  
They were all eager to pile into Dan's room, but they decided that his father would go in alone, first, so as not to overwhelm him with noise and conversation. Phil could hardly wait, could barely keep himself from bouncing on the spot, and nearly cheered when he was finally invited into the room, Dan's father deciding to wait outside with Phil’s mother.   
  
Dan was sitting upright on the hospital bed, looking especially small surrounded by pillows and in his hospital robes. He smiled tentatively when he saw Phil, who grinned widely. He wasted no time in bounding across the room, inviting himself right up onto the bed in order to hug Dan.   
  
"I'm so sorry," he conveyed, squeezing Dan tightly.   
  
"What for?" Dan asked incredulously, pulling away to look at him.   
  
"It's all my fault," Phil whispered. "I'm the one who took you to the river. I wasn't there to keep you from falling..."   
  
"Oh shut up," Dan said, rolling his eyes. "You haven't been feeling guilty this entire time have you?"   
  
Phil shrugged, and Dan laughed. "Get in," he instructed, lifting up the coarse hospital blankets. Phil climbed right in after toeing off his shoes, and their legs tangled with one another. Phil grabbed Dan's hand, unable to keep from watching Dan's face as he did.   
  
Dan blushed, and his eyes widened just the slightest amount. Phil wanted to sigh. He didn't know what he was going to do about this crush Dan had on him. For one thing, he didn't like boys and certainly didn't like Dan in that way. And for another, he loved Dan enough to worry about how he would feel when Phil was gone, losing not only his best friend, but the person he liked as well.   
  
They fell asleep like that, laying in Dan's hospital bed, their legs intertwined and their hands held between them. And surprisingly, no one bothered them. They just let them sleep.   
  
—   
  
“You could’ve used the teleporter I gave you, you know,” Phil chided, surreptitiously glancing around, making sure truly no one could overhear them. They were sitting in the courtyard during their break after lunch. All the other kids were running around and goofing off, but Phil had pulled Dan over to sit in the shade, still healing from his concussion. The thought that Dan had been drowning, with means to escape sitting right in his pocket—unused—unnerved Phil.   
  
“And waste its one use?” Dan scoffed. “No way.”   
  
“You could’ve died.”   
  
“But I didn’t,” Dan said nonchalantly. “And now I’ll be able to use this when it’s actually useful.” He held up the teleportation device, spinning it deftly between his fingers. Dan was grinning up at it, his eyes almost glazed over, the light of the sun glinting off the silver device. Phil had to suppress a shiver—Dan was a bit scary like this. He seemed completely unfazed by the fact he’d almost lost his life. This was a boy who was willing to risk death in order to not let a stupid teleportation device go to waste.

  
"Stop showing that off," Phil muttered, bumping Dan's arm. "Anyone could be looking."   
  
"I'll tell them to go away," Dan said viciously, and Phil rolled his eyes.   
  
"You do that."   
  
Dan had not liked having a concussion. He was practically impossible to contain, wanting to invent things, to combat Phil and his new teleportation device. It'd been hard work keeping him contained in bed, trying not to let him worsen his concussion. Still, Dan could hardly be stopped, and he'd kept insisting that they had to spend as little time apart from each other as they could. "Our time is limited, Phil," he'd been saying. "We can't afford to waste it."   
  
"We'll see each other again," Phil would promptly say, but Dan always bit his lip and looked away, hiding his worried expression. He didn't believe it, obviously, but Phil would prove him wrong. He'd send letters and visit during summers, Dan would see.   
  
He was still at a loss for what to do about Dan's feelings, though. He'd only realized recently, when he'd gotten an inkling in the back of his mind and had wondered, had become curious... He'd been unable to help from noticing the way Dan's eyes seemed to follow him in a room, how he practically preened whenever Phil touched him, how he always avoided the topic of crushes when it arose. And how was Phil supposed to deal with Dan having a crush on him? He didn't mind, of course, but was there some kind of proper etiquette when situations like these came about?   
  
With a sigh, Phil gave up his train of thought, looking to Dan instead. He was still smiling, now staring down at the teleporter on his lap. Dan noticed him staring, and looked up at him with a blush, before pocketing the device.   
  
"I'll save it," he assured, and Phil nodded, as if their trains of thought had been any bit similar during those past few minutes.   
  
\--

 

Phil knew what he was doing was wrong. He knew it was pathetic and immoral and downright disgusting, but he couldn't help it. It was as if there was some driving force behind him, some horrible desire for him to know for _certain_ that Dan had a crush on him, and the opportunity had been too perfect.   
  
Dan had been called downstairs by his mother, and was in trouble by the sound of it.   
  
"I didn't do any of the chores she told me to," he'd said guiltily to Phil, his eyes wide with panic as he hastily scooped all the metal parts and pieces and tools off his bed. He lifted his comforter, hanging to the floor, and pried his mattress upward. He shoved all the supplies between the bed and the boxspring, and further under the bed, Phil thought he saw something, some sort of leather corner...   
  
"Why didn't you?" Phil asked, frowning at Dan. He didn't normally get in trouble. He was usually on top of everything, his room clean, his chores done, his homework finished (during class, while their teacher was still teaching it).   
  
"I'm too busy," Dan claimed. He was now scanning his room frantically, searching for anything he might've missed.   
  
"Daniel James Howell!" his mother yelled from downstairs, impatient, and they both winced.   
  
"Doing what?" Phil questioned. He clearly wasn't held up with homework, and whenever he and Phil weren't together Dan was at home, with plenty of time for getting his chores done.   
  
"Creating things..." Dan answered, distracted, before finally jumping to his feet. "Might be a while," he said guiltily, before spinning on his heel and hustling down the stairs. Almost immediately, Phil heard Dan's mother's stern, angry voice, and he sighed, settling in for a long wait. Dan didn't seem completely himself lately. He was constantly distracted, half-busy, never seeming as if he was all in one place, part his mind always somewhere else. Phil wondered if it was the concussion that had caused this, or if it was all just a frantic result of finding out Phil would be leaving him.   
  
Phil bit his lip, sparing a cautious glance towards the door before kneeling beside the bed and lifting the mattress. If he was right about what he'd seen underneath it... _Bingo_!

  
Feeling guilt spread uneasily through his stomach, Phil carefully extracted the leather bound journal hidden beneath the mattress. The cover looked banged up from use, the pages well worn.   
  
With one last wary look towards the door, Phil plopped down firmly on the floor, brushing aside his misgivings. He would only read a couple pages, just enough to be sure.   
  
Phil scanned the first few pages for his name, only to realize that it was from a good few months before they're even met. He flicked further through the pages, stopping when he finally noticed his name, the date depicting the early days of the school year.   
  
_I was right,_ Dan wrote, his handwriting looking much too grown up for a ten year old, but then, it always had. _I knew middle school was going to suck, and I was right. It's just like elementary school except the kids are older, taller, and meaner. And if they're not mean they're annoying_ — _Phil Lester is a perfect excuse of this. I think if I have to tolerate him sitting beside me in English, whipping his head up and down to copy every word written on the board, for one more day I'll explode. He'll learn to stop talking to me soon, surely. Doesn't he realize I won't respond?_

  
Phil grinned. _Wrong_ , he thought triumphantly, before turning a few more pages. He scanned over them quickly.   
  
_I talked yesterday. Obviously I didn't want to but... Phil's mom was talking to me, and for once I just wanted someone to think I was normal. She probably realized I wasn't though, seeing as Phil's eyes went about the size of the moon. He demanded to come inside with me (I can never say no to him) and I had to talk to him more. God, he's probably going to expect me to talk all the time now, isn't he? Sometimes I hate that boy!_   
_  
_ Bad things happen when I speak. I mean, you and I both know that.

  
This made Phil frown. It was odd to get a peek into Dan's head, to see why he was mute. He wasn't when he was around Phil anymore, of course, but he was still silent pretty much everywhere else. How could Dan be so paranoid? How could he think that him speaking could be so bad?   
  
Phil kept going.   
  
_I did something bad today,_ Dan wrote. _I did it for Phil. I shouldn't have, but..._   
  
_Am I a bad person? Sometimes I think I'm not the hero of my own story, not the protagonist. I'm the_ **_antagonist_ ** _. And whoever likes the bad guy?_   
_  
_ _It was at the science fair. They said that Phil was second place and he just looked so sad. He_ **_deserved_ ** to be first though! Surely what I did wasn't so bad? I just wanted to make Phil happy. I always want him to be happy…

  
Phil was confused. What could Dan have possibly done? He hadn't specified, but... Well, he sounded quite sure that he'd done something wrong. He said he'd done it _for_ Phil, but what could that possibly mean?   
  
He thumbed through the pages even more, to the most recent ones.   
  
_I don't know what I'm going to do_ , Dan wrote, his handwriting messy, panicked. _Phil's moving away. But I_ **_need_ ** _him. Before, I never spoke, never! But I've realized that I_ **_like_ ** _talking, and I really like talking to him. But if when he's gone... what if I slip up? What if I make a mistake? What if Piers shoves me and I tell him to go away, or to leave me alone? Sure it might not be so bad then, but what about_ **_later_ ** _? What if I start telling people to do things for me?_

  
Phil was beyond understanding. Dan was making absolutely no sense, and at this point Phil was willing to bet that these were concussion-induced diary entries. Dan was acting as if telling someone to do something was a horrible thing, but people told people to do things all the time! It didn't mean they'd actually do them. He kept reading.   
  
_I'm inventing things,_ Dan continued. _Lots of things. They don't really make sense but... I'm making them. I've made this kind of hearing aid, it's just a prototype, but if I wear it in the cafeteria, I can hear people on the complete other side._

  
Phil felt his eyes widen—that was impressive. Why hadn't Dan showed him these things?   


_Diary_ , Dan continued, his handwriting, if it were to be described, feverish. _I really think I'm the bad guy. I think I'm evil. Why else would I be able to do what I can do? Why else would I be able to make someone do whatever I want, just by telling them to?_

  
Phil felt a rush of cold horror wash down his spine, and not just because of the words on the page. Out of the corner of his eye, he finally realized that he wasn't alone.   
  
"What are you doing?" Dan asked quietly.   
  
"Dan!" Phil gasped, throwing the diary away from himself. "I don't know what I was doing, I'm sorry!"   
  
"What did you read?" Dan asked calmly.   
  
Phil swallowed nervously. All the words Dan had written seemed to be swimming raucously behind his eyes, swirling through his mind. Surely Dan hadn't meant what he’d written? It was just his overactive imagination. Maybe people felt inclined to do as he said sometimes, but that would just be because he was good at convincing people, nothing else.   
  
"I'm sorry," Phil said again. "I-I shouldn't have. That was horrible of me—"   
  
"What did you read?" Dan repeated. His eyes seemed to have shutters pulled behind them—Phil couldn't read him at all.   
  
"You're not evil, Dan," Phil said firmly. He wasn't evil because what he'd written wasn't _real_. Because if it was... Goosebumps raised all along Phil's arms. If it was, then how could justice exist? If Dan could make a person do whatever he wanted, just by telling them to, then how could he ever really, truly be good? Knowing the power that he possessed?

 

"I am," Dan said, his voice serious, beholding not a shred of doubt. "Did you read the latest entry?"  
  
Phil shook his head, and with a look from Dan, picked the journal back up. He flipped to the most recent page.   


_I am evil_ , it read, Dan's handwriting normal again. _I_ **_am_ ** _evil Phil. And here's the proof. After all, you read this very page just ten minutes ago_ — _or have you forgotten?_

 

Phil looked up at Dan, confused. Did he mean... he'd _made_ Phil forget already? So he could write that entry?   
  
Had all of this already happened?

 

Dan's eyes were red, full of tears, but he was holding them back.  
  
"What?" Phil finally said, breaking the silence.   
  
"I'm sorry Phil."   
  
"I don't under—"   
  
"Forget what you read," Dan hissed, and Phil blinked. For the briefest moment, he couldn't remember what he was doing, like when he walked into a room only to promptly forget what for. But his heart was pounding, and he suddenly realized that Dan had walked into the room right as he was opened the journal. God, he was a bad friend! And he'd really been planning on reading it too…

  
"I'm sorry Dan!" he exclaimed. "I didn't read it, I swear—but... I was going to." Guilt, thick and heavy, swarmed through him. "Dan, I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me?"   
  
But Dan was already nodding, crossing the room and sinking to his knees. He pulled Phil into a hug, sniffing heavily.   
  
"Don't cry," Phil whispered. "I'm sorry, I didn't read it, I'm sorry."   
  
"So am I," Dan said, so quietly that Phil was sure he'd misheard him. Still, he didn't question his friend, instead hugging him tighter. What did it matter if Dan had a crush on him? He didn't need to go rifling through his diary in order to find out something like that. What kind of a friend was he?   
  
"I'm going to miss you so much," Dan murmured. Phil pulled away then, and Dan wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands, looking at the carpet between them.   
  
"We still have time," Phil assured him, and Dan smiled grimly. "I promise you," Phil added firmly. "I won't let us drift."


	9. Chapter 9

Dan was aware quite immediately upon waking that he was an absolute idiot. But he was an idiot who really, really enjoyed the way Phil’s body felt against him. Phil was warm. His bare chest felt hot pressed against Dan’s back, his hands splayed over his chest. Dan couldn’t really remember taking off his clothes the night before, but he could only be grateful that he’d managed to leave on his underwear.

Despite the fact that this whole situation could be summed as a giant fuck-up, Dan didn’t regret it. He could remember last night; the fun he’d had for the first time in years, the drinks that’d made him feel light on his feet, his eyes wide and his hands flying through the air as he gestured about this topic or another. He remembered the way Phil had invited him to his bed, completely innocently, and how he’d wished for it to be less than so. He remembered the way Phil’s lips had felt against his, warm and soft and gentle, making Dan want to pull him closer and closer, to hold him all night long.

But still, overshadowing all the wonder and delight he’d felt the night before was the fact that he was _the Panther_. He couldn’t afford to date someone. He didn’t have the time to waste nor was he willing to bring someone he cared about into something that could endanger them—what if the Raven realized Dan had someone he wanted to keep safe, and kidnapped Phil? And yes, Dan could admit he cared about him. He had when he was little, and though he’d tried to forget about him over the years, now that he was back he couldn’t deny that he cared about him again. Not that the Raven would likely have much time for kidnapping people recently—he was sure to be busy with the non-criminals Dan had managed to get locked up. 

Although Dan wasn’t sure the Raven had a bad bone in him. He might like to think that his enemy could be daring and seditious enough to kidnap a person Dan cared about and threaten them, but the Raven just seemed too _good_ for that. After all, he’d healed _Dan_ , the one person he was constantly trying to capture. None of it made any sense. 

On that rooftop, Dan had thought he was done for. Being the Panther had been all fun and games for years, but in that moment he’d thought that it was all finally coming to an end. There he was, weak and dizzy with blood lost, the Raven advancing on him, surely about to haul him to prison—and then the pain had left. Raven had used some ingenious invention on Dan, something that had made his skin knit together before his eyes, something that had filled his body with momentary adrenaline. It hadn’t been long before he’d been leaping off that roof for all he was worth, desperate to get away and try to wrap his mind around everything that had happened. (And that jump had fucking hurt, by the way—the Raven hadn’t been lying when he’d said Dan needed to keep off his feet for a while. He’d spent the entire next day laying in bed and plotting ways to find the Raven’s base and steal some of his healing supplies.)

Even an entire day with nothing but time to think hadn’t given Dan any insight into the Raven’s brain. Maybe he was just crazy—there wasn’t any good explanation for the Raven deciding to save him. Sure, he could go around spouting whatever bullshit he wanted about wanting to win fair and square, but no one was _that_ noble.

The bad thing about having an entire day to think was that he couldn’t spend all that time thinking about the Raven, his mind inevitably drifted to what _he_ had done. Even now, he cringed thinking of how he’d persuaded the Raven. How anger had flushed through him, how he’d snapped at the hero to shut up. It was just like being a kid again, when he would slip up, make a mistake. There was always a moment before he realized what he’d done, a brief moment sort of like a pause, before the the world came crashing around him as Dan realized _oh God I’ve done it again no no I’ve done it again!_  

And he’d thought he was past that now. The guilt had nearly consumed him as a kid—any time, every time—he’d done it. Watching their eyes glaze over, watching them serenely do whatever he said. The disgust he’d felt towards himself had been monumental, had been overwhelming, and for a moment on that rooftop he’d felt like that again. After all his years of being the Panther, of persuading people left and right to do his bidding, doing it by accident was still as terrifying and hurtful as it’d always been. Not to mention that there was that tiny, disgusting, feeling of guilt, knowing he’d done it to the Raven.

When the Raven had first risen, Dan had sworn to himself not to use his power on the other man. Life was much more fun with him around, and Dan didn’t want to bring that fun to an end. No doubt persuading the other man to leave him alone would work, so he of course didn't do that. And otherwise persuading him would likely cause him fear so great that he’d give up being a superhero, give up fighting Dan—and Dan couldn’t have that.

What was _wrong_ with him anyway? What villain wanted the hero to show up, to try to stop them, simply to be thwarted? Why was he so desperate for the Raven’s company? Was he really so lonely? 

Dan huffed, cursing himself for ruining the peace he’d felt waking up in Phil’s arms. Phil was nice. He was incredible, and despite being the bad guy, Dan would do anything to protect Phil. He would even persuade the Raven again if he had to.

Honestly, it’d been a relief when he’d remembered the invitation Phil had extended—Dan was only thankful that his leg was all healed by then. He normally didn’t get injured with his whole being the Panther business. He wondered what Phil would think of it, what he would do if he realized who Dan was. Dan couldn’t help but remember them as kids, running around through their neighborhood, building forts in their bedrooms. Well, he knew what _that_ Phil would think, anyway. That Phil would be horrified. 

Dan swallowed. That was another person he cared about that he’d persuaded, then. But he’d had to. If he hadn’t… And the way Phil had looked at him; scared, hopeless, confused. Dan hadn’t been able to stand that look. He had to erase it.

Now, Dan reached up and touched the back of Phil’s hand. It was soft, and he ran his fingertips lightly over it.

 _I’ll never persuade you again,_ Dan thought fiercely. _Not ever._

He wouldn’t allow himself to lose Phil again. It’d been too long since they’d been together, and Dan realized that maybe they were _meant_ to be together. When else had he ever felt so relaxed? It was like he’d been missing a piece all those years, and now it was back, slotting perfectly into place where it belonged. 

Carefully, Dan eased out of the bed, moving slowly so as not to wake Phil. He looked peaceful in his sleep, his hair in his face and his mouth slightly agape. Dan couldn’t help the smile that tugged on his lips, the warmth that filled him at the sight of the other man. God, he was going to have to stop lying to him. He’d already lied about that whole university thing— _why_ had he told him he was getting his masters?—and soon that would come crashing down on him if he didn’t do something to fix it. He could always say that he’d just been trying to impress Phil or something, which was as stupid as it sounded, but perhaps Phil would believe it.

Trying to push away all his troubles for the time being, Dan slipped out of the room and into the hall. To the right was the living room and kitchen, and across the hall was Remy’s room and the bathroom. Dan ran his tongue over his teeth, grimacing at the grimy feel of them, a combination of sleep and alcohol. He was lucky he didn’t have a hangover, and he’d be much luckier if there was a spare toothbrush in the linen closet. He liked Phil—really, he did—but he didn’t think he was willing to share his toothbrush.

Dan quietly opened the closet, and was left gaping, because it _wasn’t_ a closet. His heart was sent pounding as his eyes slipped from surface to surface, all stacked and piled with odd bits of machinery. There was barely any floor space at all, almost every inch covered with tools and parts and half-invented things. It looked to be a mad-mans office, or a mad-genius’ office, knowing Phil. But why had he lied about it? Because it was so untidy? 

Unable to stop himself, overwhelmed with brimming curiosity, Dan took a step further into the room. He waded over to the desk, littered with scraps of paper and hastily written notes. Phil seemed to be inventing some sort of device that silenced a person, for whatever reason.

Brows furrowed, Dan picked up a paper full of feverish looking drawings. There were equations written all around the sides, and in the middle was a diagram of some kind of wings. _Stronger_ , Phil had written beside them, an arrow pointing to one such equation. _Longer wingspan, faster flight, holds double my weight._  

"What?" Dan breathed, slowly lowering the paper back to the desk. But it was so cluttered he couldn't be completely sure of where he'd picked it up from. He tried to brush away some of the papers, but he must've hit some hidden switch or button, as the low groaning of mechanics powering up filled the room, simultaneously filling Dan with panic.

"No, no, no—shh!" Dan said to the room in general, looking around fearfully, afraid Phil was going to wake up and burst into the room. A panel of the wall, directly in front of the desk, was pulling backward into the foundation with a hiss. It slid away, and in its place, descended a platform encircled in glass. And inside the glass...

"Fuck.” He slammed his hands over the desk frantically, hoping to find that switch again and breathing a shaky sigh of relief when the wall began to replace itself. "Fuck fuck fuck."

Inside the glass, still disappearing behind the wall, was the Raven's uniform. It was unmistakeable—Dan saw it every week, dreamed of it every night. And unless Phil was secret roomies with the Raven...

There was no time to think, only time to act, and Dan had to get _out of there_. He scrambled back through the room, not caring if he disturbed any of Phil's—the Raven's—crap. He doubted he'd be able to notice anyway. 

Once back in the hallway, Dan shut the door firmly behind him and hurried toward the end of the hall.

"Where are you going?"

Dan spun, heart in his throat, to face the voice.

"Remy," he said carefully. "You're up early."

"It's ten."

"Only heathens wake up before lunch."

" _You're_ awake."

"And a heathen."

Remy was squinting at him suspiciously.

"I have to go," Dan said hastily. "I totally forgot but I have something to do today... Um—class, you know? So I should really be going..."

Remy still looked distrustful. Dan was going to be put in a very bad mood if he had to persuade someone before noon.

"Will you tell Phil where I went? I'd say goodbye myself but..."

The girl nodded slowly. "Did you just come from the end of the hall?" she asked, jerking her head towards the door at the end. Dan glanced at it.

It was said that the best lies came from truth.

"I was looking for a toothbrush," Dan admitted. "I thought that'd be a closet, but..."

Remy was now looking at him very, very distrustfully.

"I think Phil's got a bit of a hoarding problem," Dan laughed. "Tell him I can help him organize it if he wants."

With that, Dan held up his hand in farewell, and left.

—

Dan was in a bit of a panic by the time he got home, understandably. His best friend was also his enemy and also his maybe boyfriend. Phil was the Raven and he wanted to kiss him and fuck him and also fight him. How could any one person’s emotions be so mixed up? So _fucked_ up?

He decided to concede that maybe he deserved this. After all, he’d been wreaking havoc and causing chaos for years now. He’d been starting fires and crashing cars and scaring innocents, and now the universe was out to get him. _You did one thing too many,_ it said. _Blowing up buildings and taking hostages and blackmailing was fine, but those innocents you put in jail? Too much._

Fine. Dan could deal with this, sure. He could deal with anything he needed to! He just had to… had to figure out how to do it first. That was all.

“I’m doomed,” Dan groaned. He was stood in his bathroom, staring his own reflection in the eyes. “ _You’re_ doomed.” 

Normally when he was feeling especially conflicted, he went out and did something stupid and dangerous. He did something to get the Raven’s attention, because what better way to stop thinking than fighting? He loved being with the Raven! Fighting and taunting and talking to the Raven were always the highlight of his days. Maybe it made sense that Phil was him. When Dan was ten, he’d needed Phil, had felt incomplete without Phil. And now, twelve years later, he needed the Raven. Felt incomplete without _the Raven_.

Except… now he had them both. Was he supposed to choose between them?

He could, of course, give up his immoral ways. He could get a real job or invent things for good, and let Phil silently wonder where the hell the Panther had gone and why. Or he could stop talking to Phil, could refuse to see him again, except for when they were both in costume. Or he could continue on his merry way with them both. He could fight the Raven at night, and spend time with Phil during the day. He could balance the two people he cared about most—the two people who were actually, in fact, one person.

Dan was way too sober for this. He took a shot, donned his suit, and jumped off his roof. Before long he’d done enough to have people shouting on the streets below him and police sirens blaring from all corners of the city. All he had left to do was sit on a roof and wait.

"Panther," the Raven barked, the moment his feet touched the roof. Dan’s legs were dangling off it, his hands splayed behind him. He leaned forward, staring down, down, down below him. Everyone looked so small from up here.

"Raven," Dan answered, calmly, quietly. "I was waiting for you."

"Seems like you're always waiting for me," the Raven taunted. Dan didn't rise to it.

"I am," he answered truthfully. "You know being the Panther wasn't all that much fun before you came along."

"And I suppose hurting innocent people is fun for you?"

A beat. "And which innocent people have I hurt?"

"You put those men in jail. Innocent men—I checked."

Dan smiled. He'd known he would. Finally he looked back, looked at the Raven, at Phil. Now that he knew the truth, it was obvious. The shape of Phil's jaw, the way he stood. Even his voice, though changed by his mask, was recognizable—just by the patterns and lilts of it.

"Yes, I did do that," Dan breathed. "Only so you'd be busy with them while I cause a mess elsewhere." Phil opened his mouth, but Dan beat him to it. "Oh no, not this mess. I'm planning something big, this time. Bigger."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I still want you to be there," Dan admitted. "Tell the police I persuaded them, tell them to look in their records—they'll believe you when those men aren't in any of them. But I can't have fun without you. You can't be held up elsewhere when that night comes, otherwise I'll be bored."

"You're mad," Phil, the Raven, growled.

"Not mad," Dan corrected quietly. "Just sad." Dan ran his thumb over the smooth metal of the device in his pocket. He'd forgotten about it over the last few years, but seeing Phil again had reminded him of it. Phil's teleporter. For a while, back then, Dan had taken it around with him everywhere, its presence like a good luck charm. It seemed crazy to him now that he'd managed to forget about it. But he had it again, now. Maybe it could be his good luck charm again. Or maybe it could just prove useful one day.

Dan was wrong about the Raven. He wasn't too good, too virtuous—he was willing to get Dan while he was down. Dan found himself, very suddenly, tied up. Ropes encircled him from head to foot, and the Raven came over and squatted beside him on the roof's edge. Dan turned his head to look at him.

"I got you," Phil said.

Dan sighed, "And here I was thinking we might have a heart to heart.”


	10. Chapter 10

**TWELVE YEARS EARLIER:**

It wasn’t often that she awoke in the middle of the night, but years of being a mother had taught her not to ignore her instincts. Of course, it was possible that she was just being paranoid, that all was right and well in the house, but she didn’t think it a very good idea to ignore what could very well be a problem. She had before woken with a similar feeling of trepidation, only to find a raccoon in her kitchen or all her house doors unlocked, which was anxiety inducing in itself.

First thing first, she walked quietly to her son’s room, stopping to listen outside the door. She couldn’t hear anything from inside the room, which spoke of both good and bad news. It was possible that he was just sleeping, but…

She was worried about him. He’d been incredibly distant lately, no doubt the result of the news the Lesters had not-so-recently dropped: they were moving. Dan had never had a close friend before, and the young boy, Phil, had been more beneficial to her son than she could’ve ever imagined.

“Dan?” she called softly, not loud enough to wake her husband across the hall. “Daaaan?” She reached for the door, an uncomfortable shiver racing down her spine as the handle refused to turn—it was locked. She tried to ignore the panic that was beginning to ooze its way into her body, expressing more and more urgently that something was wrong. Many boys decided they liked privacy at this age, surely it wasn’t so weird that her son wanted to sleep with the door locked?

Still, she couldn’t just not check. She would open the door quickly, briefly, and as soon as she was sure her son was there she would leave. She just had to be _sure_.

There was a key hidden on top of the door jam further down the hall, and after retrieving it she went straight back to her son’s room, fumbling with the key momentarily as her hands shook with nerves. _He’s there_ , she thought to herself firmly. _He’s asleep and he’s there._

But she was wrong. Her son wasn’t in his room, nor was he hiding in the connected closet or bathroom.

“Dan?” she whispered yelled, now truly frightened about the situation. “Daniel where are you?”

Her son didn’t answer. She stepped to her son’s bed, empty, and sat, taking a deep breath and trying to ward off the tears that were quickly gathering in her eyes. Dan had been so upset recently, so distant—could he really have run away?

—

Dan gasped as he suddenly lost footing, tumbling a few terrifying feet before a branch collided with his stomach, knocking the breath him. Gasping through a groan, Dan clung on, swinging his leg up and over the branch. He didn’t know how he’d gotten so careless as to fall from the higher branch, but it might’ve had something to do with the fact that he hadn’t been sleeping well recently. It’d been months since he’d persuaded Phil, but he still couldn’t sleep without waking up minutes later, covered in sweat and heart throbbing. What he’d done… it was despicable. But there was no going back now.

Mostly, there’d been panic. Idiotically, Dan had never imagined what would happen if someone found his journal. He didn’t refrain from writing anything in it, and he’d been stupid enough to assume it’d never be found and read. When he’d come into his room and seen Phil reading, he’d panicked. He’d told him to forget.

And then he’d realized that it was too late—too late to _save himself_. Already he’d felt like things were going sour, like he was losing not only Phil, but also himself. When he’d used his power on Phil, something that he’d never imagined himself doing, it’d felt like he’d thrown his entire moral code out the window. At that moment, Dan had thought, _why does it matter?_ Why does _anything_ matter?

Maybe he’d gone crazy in those few minutes, but while Phil had sat there, dazed and confused, Dan had written a final entry in his journal.

 _I_ ** _am_** _evil, Phil,_ it had read. _And here’s the proof. You read this very page just ten minutes ago—or have you forgotten?_

Looking back at it now, Dan was sickened by what he’d done. But in that moment, that’s not how he’d felt at all. Adrenaline had been rushing through his veins, he’d felt almost _giddy_ at what he was doing. And he’d backed out of the room and watched Phil discover his secrets all over again (whilst feeling moderately betrayed, knowing his best friend would read his personal journal). He’d done all that only to interrupt Phil again, but while at first he’d felt pleasure and excitement, it’d quickly slid into horror and disgust at himself. By then it was too late to stop—he’d made Phil read the last page he’d written, watched as his eyes, filled with fear, looked up at him.

And then he’d told him to forget.

There’d been no rush of glory or excitement, no feelings of winning, of getting one over Phil—just shame. He’d let himself cry on Phil’s shoulder, for reasons Phil thought different, and hate himself. And ever since, he’d felt the same. Hatred, shame, disgust—these were the things Dan deserved to feel about himself. So upset with his own actions, Dan had stopped talking to Phil completely. Tonight was the last night of Phil living here, his family packing their belongings into their car and taking off first thing tomorrow morning. A part of Dan felt hurt that Phil was actually leaving, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He wasn’t even sure if Phil liked him any more—the last conversation they’d had had been weeks ago, when Dan had told him that he couldn’t come over to play for the twelfth time in a row.

Without being able to spend time with Phil, there’d been only one thing left to do: invent. He couldn’t see Phil as it only reminded him of how deplorable he was, so that left being alone, making everything he could imagine. If he couldn’t be the good guy in his story, then he’d just have to be the best bad guy there ever was.

Finally having caught his breath and situated himself on the branch, Dan dug into his pocket for something he’d recently made. It was almost perfected, he just wanted to test it out.

He pulled forth two small earplug-looking things and slid them carefully into his ears. Immediately, Dan heard himself gasp at the difference. He was sitting high up in a tree, high, high up, but… he could _hear_ something. More than the rustling of the grass down below, more than the creek trickling not to far away, he heard something else.

“ _Shh_ ,” someone was whispering.

“Don’t shush me,” another snapped. “Who the hell’s gonna hear us out here?” A cold shiver washed down Dan’s spine as he recognized the voice—Piers.

“You never know,” Carl snapped back. Dan hunkered down, prepared to do some serious eavesdropping.

“Whatever. Let’s go.” The two boys weren’t underneath the tree, which was where Dan had assumed they were hearing them from. They were actually on the other side of the street entirely, and he was left gaping as he realized how advanced his invention really was.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Carl asked. They were now circling behind the house, and on a whim, Dan began climbing down the tree, planning to follow them.

“Of course it is. It’s our last chance to really show him who’s boss—we have to do it while we’re still here.”

Dan slipped, hearing that, and was left scrambling to regain his hold. The only person Dan knew of who’d be “gone soon” was Phil. What were these bullies planning to do to him?

Filled with a new, invigorated sense of panic, Dan hurried down the rest of the tree, barely caring if the branches he was stepping on were stable or not. Once on the ground he sprinted after his classmates’ receding footsteps, panting when he caught up.

 _I won’t persuade them_ , Dan thought determinedly. After persuading Phil he’d felt disgusted at the very thought of persuading another. He hadn’t spoken to anyone for weeks. Dan had already come to the conclusion that he was evil—his power was a testament to that—but he didn’t have to be evil _now_. He could try to hold it back for as long as possible. Maybe he could just cut out his tongue entirely, take away the chance of becoming evil altogether.

Still, all of Dan’s thoughts seemed to be waging a war inside his brain. He was convinced he was becoming evil while trying to resist it. He dreaded it with all of his being while also longing to just embrace it, to stop trying so hard to never persuade anyone and just let himself be. He had thoughts about cutting his tongue out in the midsts of creating such inventions that could enhance his experiences as a villain—he’d already created hearing devices, ones which obviously worked, so what else could he create?

Pushing aside his thoughts for now (which he hadn’t been able to do for the longest while, having nothing to distract himself) he quietly followed behind Piers and Carl. He’d zoned out and missed part of their conversation, but it was obvious now that they were headed towards Phil’s house. Dread curled in Dan’s stomach the further they went, not wanting anything bad to happen to Phil but also not wanting to see his house. Strangely enough, he _missed_ Phil’s house, missed going there and being with Phil. He guessed it made sense, anyway, seeing as he was in love with the other boy.

“Ready?” Piers suddenly said, Phil’s house looming in front of him. Dan stepped behind a bush, remaining hidden as he and Carl looked around anxiously. Without waiting for an answer from Carl, Piers withdrew a box of matches from his pocket. He struck one and took a step towards the house, looking determined.

“Are you out of your _mind_?” Dan screeched, finally running out from behind the bush and towards the other boys. His heart was pounding away in his chest as he looked anxiously at the match. Could a single match light an entire house on fire? Did it _matter_? Piers’ intentions were clear, and they were terrifying.

Both of the other boys spun to look at him, mouths gaping, before anger overtook them.

“Well if it isn’t little Daniel Howell,” Piers sneered. Dan glared at him, his fists clenched by his sides.

“You’re crazy,” Dan said, much more bravely than he felt. “Do you actually plan to light Phil’s house on fire?”

“Why don’t you go inside and we’ll find out?”

Dan grit his teeth. He had to think carefully about everything he wanted to say. His mind was screaming at him to tell the other boys to go away, to put the match out, to _fuck off_ , but his stomach clenched unpleasantly at the thought of doing so.

 _Don’t be evil_ , some part of himself seemed to be saying. _You_ ** _are_** _evil,_ another chimed in, and it was hard to pay attention to the bullies when his mind was so loud.

Piers’ match had burned out, and he tossed it aside and struck another one. “Hold him,” he instructed, and Carl darted forward and grabbed Dan, ignoring the way he struggled in his arms.

“You’re gonna watch,” Piers said evilly, before taking another step towards Phil’s house. And suddenly, Dan couldn’t control himself anymore. He was filled with anger and fear.

He elbowed Carl in the gut, ignoring him as he cursed angrily in his ear, and yelled, “Stop!” Immediately, Piers did stop, and so did Carl. Dan expected the familiar feel of disgust and shame to course through him, but instead felt only vindictive pleasure. He slipped out of Carl’s hold and stepped towards Piers.

Dan felt power thrumming through his veins—power like he’d never felt before.

“Put that out,” Dan commanded, and as Piers moved to shake out the match, Dan added, “on yourself.” Piers held the match closer to his skin, and with a sharp breath of pain, he stubbed it out on his bare arm. Carl was watching all of this fearfully.

“What are you doing?” Carl said to Piers, his voice panicked. “Stop it! You don’t have to listen to him!”

“Shut up,” Dan snapped, and Carl _did_. Adrenaline made Dan’s heart beat quickly, his blood thrumming through his body. He felt like he could run a hundred miles, or control a hundred people.

Both the other boys were quiet now, and Piers had dropped the match after putting it out. There was a bright red mark on his arm, visible even in the moon light.

A moment passed, all three of them silent, but Dan wasn’t done. His worries of the morality of controlling a person were gone from his head, instead filled with the thought that these idiots had been planning to hurt Phil. They’d wanted to burn his whole house down!

“Dance,” Dan said suddenly, though his voice sounded idle. Immediately, the other boys started dancing. They grabbed each other and set into a waltz much too complicated for two twelve year olds to actually know. Dan felt his lips turn up in amusement. He could get used to this.

“Never talk again,” Dan instructed wildly. “Ever.” Neither of the boys responded. Dan was smiling broadly now, imaging all the times he’d been made fun of for not talking. Now Piers and Carl would be similarly made fun of— _for the rest of their lives._

“Leave Phil alone, and leave me alone too.” The boys kept dancing. “Now go home and forget you ever saw me!”

Abruptly, the boys stopped dancing and walked away, their arms stiff by their sides. Dan felt triumphant, he felt _brilliant_ , he felt—

“Dan?”

Dan quickly wiped the smile from his face, pasted on an innocent expression, and looked up. Phil was peering out his window.

“Phil,” Dan said.

“I thought I heard voices out here. What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Dan said hastily, before realizing that this was no viable explanation for why he could be here. “Actually… I just wanted to tell you something.”

Looking up at Phil, Dan realized suddenly, viciously, how much he was going to miss him. Tomorrow he would be gone and Dan would be completely alone again. He’d wasted _weeks_ ignoring Phil, avoiding him, and now he was going to lose him—possibly forever.

Or he could tell him to stay. He could tell him to run away, to hide in the forest and still be Dan’s best friend. He could tell his parents not to move, that to do it would be such an incredibly wrong choice that they had no other option than to stay.

“What?” Phil prompted, and Dan looked up at him. He didn’t know how he was going to get by without Phil. Phil, who for the past year, Dan had been in love with. Most people might think a ten year old wouldn’t know what love is, but Dan did. It was what he felt about Phil. It was what made his heart flutter when he looked at him, when Phil smiled at him with his tongue between his teeth. It was what he felt when he’d avoided Phil these past weeks, the lonesome longing he’d felt to be with him at all times. It was what made him want to grab him and kiss him on the lips, just to see what it was like.

“I love you,” Dan blurted. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he’d actually said it. And then he realized that he had and panic shook his bones, making him take a step back, ready to run away.

“Oh,” said Phil, which absolutely wasn’t what Dan wanted to hear in response to his confession. So he turned tail and ran, ignoring the way he could hear Phil calling after him much too long after Dan should’ve been out of hearing range, his invention still working quite steadily.

He was an idiot! He had no idea where that had come from! Dan tried frantically to calm himself down. He’d be fine, he told himself. Phil couldn’t get him here in his house, and if he tried to get to Dan, he could just hide. Or tell him to leave.

Dan almost wanted to cry. He was so ridiculous, thinking he could get away with saying something like that. He’d probably disgusted Phil completely. What person like _Phil_ would ever fall in love with him?

Back at his house, Dan scrambled up the side of the building, throwing open the window and falling heavily on his bed, holding back tears, hot in his eyes. He just wanted to go to sleep.

“And where were you, young man?” his mother suddenly barked, voice piping up from the corner of the room, and Dan’ couldn’t _take_ it. He couldn’t take her disapproving look, couldn’t take her disappointed voice. He couldn’t take the anger shining behind her eyes nor the worry in the set of her shoulders.

“Leave me alone!” Dan yelled, and his mother nodded, quite understandingly, and left his room. Dan threw himself under his covers, shoes and all, and bit down harshly on his lips. He’d felt like he’d lost everything tonight. Now all he could do was refuse to lose his tears too.

And the next morning, when Phil’s family came to say goodbye, when Dan’s mother came up to his room, telling him to come see them off, he told her to go away. There was nothing there for him downstairs anyway.


	11. Chapter 11

Phil debated whether to pinch himself or not. After all, he’d only ever caught the Panther before when he was dreaming. But now here he was, the Panther tied up before him, looking up at him sulkily. **  
**

“It’s quite rude to catch your enemy while they’re sitting,” the Panther said. “Especially when they’re opening up to you.”

“Quit it with your mind games, Panther,” Phil snapped. He reached down to his gadget belt and fiddled with a small switch, making the ropes around the Panther glow bright blue and lift him a few feet into the air. Now he’d be forced to hover along Phil’s side.

“For once, Raven,” the Panther said solemnly. “I’m not playing any games.”

Phil ignored the Panther. Listening to what he said usually only proved to be confusing and disastrous. On more than one occasion Phil had been close to catching the other man only for him to wind his words in that way he did, managing to escape from Phil’s clutches because of it. He wouldn’t be escaping this time.

Phil paced to the edge of the roof and looked down. Of course the Panther had chosen an extremely tall building to get captured on, he thought irritably. It just made transporting him all the more difficult. The ropes the other man was tied up in were designed to float only a few feet in the air, so if Phil started flying away, the Panther would follow until they reached the end of the roof, where he would then plummet. Phil had been trying to develop them further to fix this problem but he’d yet to actually do so, and to be quite honest, he hadn’t expected to even have the chance to use them so soon. And so here they were.

With a sigh, Phil realized they were going to have to traipse all the way through the building they were currently stood on top of. God, how awkward would it be, the two of them in an elevator together as it descended to the bottom floor? Just thinking of the elevator music playing, the Panther floating at his side, had Phil cringing, though it wasn’t like he was going to not capture the Panther simply to avoid an awkward moment.

Phil walked briskly towards the roof door (the Panther bobbed along beside him) and began tugging at the handle, which was locked. It went against Phil’s morals to break into a building, but right now capturing the Panther was more important than respecting property.

“I have a few lock-picking tools on me if you need them,” the Panther said idly. Irritatingly, he looked totally at ease, all tied up and completely at Phil’s mercy. Then the Panther added, his voice sultry, “If you know where to look.”

“Shut up,” Phil muttered, and he reached into a pocket of his own belt, digging around for some piece or part that might prove useful for breaking into a building.

It was while Phil was distracted that the Panther cried out in pain. The ropes around him stopped glowing and he crashed back to the roof, groaning.

“What the—?” Phil managed, before something grazed his arm, pain exploding behind it. He gasped, clutching the wound and feeling blood, before spinning around.

At the edge of the roof stood a man. He was tall and bulky and cut an imposing figure against the sky. His entire body was covered in black elastic, even his face. His arm was extended, and Phil realized now that it’d been a knife that’d sliced his arm. He glanced down at the Panther, who was now panting from pain, his fingers managing to clutch something protruding from his side.

“Who are you?” Phil barked, anger exploding somewhere inside him. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Phil was _this_  close to capturing the Panther, and this random man comes along to interrupt it? He couldn’t possibly be an accomplice of the Panther’s, having thrown a knife into him.

The man refused to answer, and Phil took an imposing step forward.

“Do you know who I am?” he demanded. Again, there was no response, and so Phil took the liberty of answering anyway. “I’m the Raven. And this—” he pointed at the Panther, still tied up at his feet, “—is the Panther. Are you sure you want to mess with me?”

In answer, the man drew another knife and flung it at Phil. He barely got out of the way fast enough, the edge of it still grazing his cheek. Phil hissed.

“Raven,” the Panther spluttered, and Phil looked down at him. “You should untie me,” he insisted. Phil blinked, noticing the phrasing. He felt no such desire to untie the other man, which meant he hadn’t been persuaded. And blatantly, Phil realized that the Panther could’ve demanded his release at virtually any moment—Phil had forgotten to shove something in his mouth and shut him up, had forgotten to snuff out his power. Why had the Panther let him get on with capturing him when he could’ve told Phil to stop at any second?

“And why the hell would I do that?” Phil demanded. The other man pulled another knife from his belt, and Phil was already crouching, preparing to dodge—

The Panther yelled as the knife impaled itself in his side. He was now panting even more loudly, groaning slightly as he breathed outward.

“Because,” he whispered shakily. His hands were covered in blood, shaking around the knives extending from his stomach. “You can’t beat him alone. And you can’t escape—your cape’s ruined.” And it was—it was shredded. While the knives the man had thrown had only managed to graze Phil, they’d done much more of a number to his cape, tearing it up in a way that let Phil know he wouldn’t be able to fly. “You should please untie me.”

“I’m not untying you,” Phil hissed, even as he leaped out of the way of another knife, this one not managing to nick him at all. The man was now approaching, however, and Phil didn’t know whether to stand his ground or run.

“ _Raven_ ,” the Panther said urgently, his eyes turning to look at him imploringly. “You can’t beat this guy alone—look at how many knives he has in his belt!” Phil looked. It was a lot. “If you don’t untie me I might die. Then you’ll never get the satisfaction of capturing me.”

“I already did capture you,” Phil sulked, but then the black-clad man was drawing back his arm again, and Phil made a decision. He hooked his foot under the Panther’s ropes and flung him out of the way just before a knife impaled the very area he’d been sitting on. Phil then clicked another button on his belt and the ropes around the Panther disintegrated. Phil huffed irritably.

“Thanks,” the Panther said, before getting unsteadily to his feet, hunched over. He had two knives sticking out of him and what Phil could see of his face was shining with sweat.

Annoyed with himself, Phil dug into a pocket of a cape and shoved a handful of pills at the Panther. “Swallow these. And rip those knifes out, you won’t want your skin knitting around them.”

“These sure are a lot of pills…” Panther said uncertainly.

“Do you want to heal fast or not?” Phil snapped. The Panther blinked at him, and then he shoved all the pills into his mouth. He swallowed them dry, wincing at the feeling, and looked down at his stomach. With a deep breath, he yanked both knives out with a groan. And then he looked up.

“Watch out!” he warned, his hands pressed to his wounds. Phil was unable to disregard the command, and his head snapped to the side to observe as the knife-thrower took aim, and then he rolled out of the way, barely avoiding the knife that came his way. There was no time to feel angry that the Panther had persuaded him, besides, he didn’t even seem to realize he’d done it. And so Phil stayed where he was, breathing heavily and trying to come up with a plan. This man seemed intent on attacking the both of them, not caring who he hit. He didn’t even seem to have a purpose higher than hurting (and possibly killing) them.

And surprisingly, right now the Panther seemed to be on his side. He wasn’t running and disappearing off the side of the roof, instead he was still standing on it with Phil, glaring at their—for once—shared enemy.

Luckily, the handful of pills Phil had given the other man seemed to have worked already, though because he wouldn’t have time to rest and let the stab wounds heal completely, he would likely have scars. The Panther vaulted almost-easily over a knife coming his way before sprinting towards Phil. He grabbed his arm as he passed, pulling Phil behind the small concrete structure on the roof which housed the door.

The Panther was already squatting, peering around the edge of their hiding place to observe their enemy, and he dropped Phil’s arm almost absently.

“What’s his motive?” the Panther muttered.

“Hurt us,” Phil answered.

The Panther turned to look at him. “What?”

“Well he hasn’t done anything else, has he? He hasn’t blown anything up or made any threats or crashed a helicopter.”

“Blowing things up is my thing,” the Panther muttered. “But good helicopter idea.” Phil groaned, ignoring the Panther and peering out from behind the wall.

“He’s gone!” Phil gasped. The man was nowhere to be seen, and Phil bit his lip anxiously, looking every which way for the man. “Where—?”

“ _Move_!“ the Panther yelled. Before Phil could think, he was moving, his body and brain obeying, working for him. But once again, he didn’t mind, the Panther having just saved his life. The knife-thrower was standing on top of the structure they’d been squatting behind, his knife impaled in the roof where Phil had been. The Panther had run in the opposite direction from Phil.

“Wait a minute,” Phil said, too quietly for anyone but himself to hear. “Wait a minute,” he repeated. “Panther! Just persuade him!”

The Panther looked stunned. “No!” he yelled back, and Phil gaped.

“ _What_? Why not!?”

“It’s cheating!” The Panther dodged as another knife was flung his way, and he circled behind their new, common enemy, glancing over his shoulder as he sprinted towards Phil.

“No it’s not!” Phil snapped. “How is it okay to persuade an innocent person but not this man trying to kill us?”

“Now’s not the time to talk morals,” the Panther hissed, and without looking at him, shoved Phil to the side, milliseconds before a knife hurtled past him. Grudgingly, Phil had to admit that the Panther really was better than him. He moved and thought faster, was already out of the way and planning a retaliation by the time Phil managed to doge.

“Do it!” Phil commanded. “Just persuade him or we’ll both die up here!” This was true. Not only were Phil’s cape-wings shredded, the Panther’s suit had two gaping holes in it where he’d been impaled, and other, smaller nicks where knives had managed to graze him. Phil didn’t completely understand how the other man’s gadgets worked, but he knew that the Panther wouldn’t risk jumping from a roof hundreds of feet in the air if his landing gear wasn’t at a hundred percent.

As if to support Phil’s statement, the man threw another knife, but this time Phil wasn’t quite fast enough. It buried itself in his thigh, and Phil groaned, falling to his knees. For some reason, this seemed to do it for the Panther.

“Fuck!” he cursed, before, “ _Stop_!”

Immediately, the stranger stopped what he was doing. He stood completely still, looking as if ready for another command. It was absolutely terrifying, watching this man bend completely to the Panther’s will. But also, in that moment, it was possibly the only thing keeping Phil alive. He dug into his cape, finding the pocket of healing pills and shoving a few into his mouth. He pulled the knife out of his thigh with a groan.

“Leave us,” the Panther commanded. Phil looked up at him.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. “Make him tell us who he is! Why he’s attacking us!”

“No.”

The other man had disappeared from the roof, climbing down over the edge.

“I’m going home,” the Panther said. “If you want to capture me it’s going to have to be some other night.” He said this calmly, nonchalantly, but he was breathing heavily as if in a panic. Now he was facing away from Phil, his shoulders rising and falling quickly.

“What’s wrong with you?” Phil asked. “What, do you not like persuading people?”

The Panther huffed, his hands squeezing into tight fists by his sides. “I’m going home,” he repeated.

“But—"

“Raven,” the Panther snapped, spinning around quickly and glaring at him, his cat-eyes practically glowing. “Don’t you have someone you love to get back to tonight? Don’t you want to go _home_?”

"What?” Phil was confused. Where had that even come from?

“Never mind,” the Panther muttered, and without looking at Phil, he walked over to the roof door and opened it in about two seconds with some tool from his belt. He then slammed it closed behind him, the lock clicking into place.

—

Phil knocked on the door, afraid it might be the wrong one. After all, Dan had only mentioned where he lived once, and they’d both been drunk, but Phil was pretty sure this was it. For some reason, what the Panther had said had really gotten to him, and he’d flown straight home, changing out of his costume as fast as he could before heading over to Dan’s.

The door had yet to swing open, however, and tentatively, Phil twisted the door handle. It opened.

“Hello?” Phil called softly. “Dan?”

There was no answer, but Phil realized that he could hear a shower running. He walked further into the apartment, glancing around curiously. There were random nick-nacks around, though the apartment wasn’t too decorated.

The shower sputtered to a stop as Phil got closer to it, connected to what looked like Dan’s bedroom. His room looked comfy, the comforter tangled atop the bed, his curtains pulled across the windows and his bedside lamp turned on. It was only then that Phil realized the rest of the apartment had been dark.

Just then the bathroom door opened and steam poured from it. Phil turned, catching only the barest glance of Dan with a towel around his waist before he was screaming and jumping behind his bathroom door.

“Dan! It’s just me—Phil!”

“I— _what_?!“ Dan gasped. "Phil! What are you doing in my house? How did you get in?”

“It was unlocked,” Phil answered. “And I just—I missed you.” This wasn’t a lie. Dan had left that same morning before Phil had woken and he’d spent a good deal of the morning sulking about not having been able to kiss the other man goodbye.

“It was unlocked!?” Dan said incredulously. There was a pause. “Can you grab me a shirt?”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you shirtless before,” Phil commented, though he was already walking over to the dresser.

“We were drunk!” Dan exclaimed. “Plus it’s different now that we’re dating.”

“Dating?”

“Oh! I mean… Well, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Phil decided, and he glanced over at the bathroom door only to see Dan’s head poking out of it. Phil grinned at him and reached for his top dresser drawer.

“Second drawer!” Dan yelled. “Er. That’s where I keep my t-shirts.”

Phil laughed and got him a shirt. He pulled out a pink one, holding it up with his eyebrow raised. Dan scoffed but held out his hands and Phil tossed him the shirt.

“Um… Are you sleeping over?” Dan asked awkwardly, and Phil grinned at him.

“Are you inviting me?”

“Completely innocently,” Dan said, and Phil nodded solemnly.

“Oh, of course.”

They were silent as they both climbed into Dan’s bed. Before when they’d done this together they’d been drunk and kissing, and now it was different. The atmosphere around them was thick, almost palpable.

“Can I kiss you again?” Dan asked suddenly, his voice quiet in the dark room, lit only from the dull glow of the lamp.

“Definitely,” Phil agreed. He rolled over, his body overlapping Dan’s. They fell into it quickly, easily, as if they’d been kissing all their lives and not just the night before, intoxicated. Dan’s lips were soft, his body and skin soft, his everything soft. Phil gathered him up in his arms and held him close as he kissed him. Dan made the smallest sounds as they kissed, ones that were barely audible: tiny gasps and hitches of breath; hums so quiet Phil almost doubted if they were even real.

“I love kissing you, Dan,” Phil said, pulling away only slightly in order to say it. His lips brushed against Dan’s as he spoke, and Dan was arching up slightly into him as he did, as if trying to keep himself from kissing Phil so he could hear him speak.

“Oh,” Dan answered, and Phil smiled against his mouth.

“Is that okay with you?”

“Yes,” Dan whispered. “Yes. It’s very okay with me.” And then he kissed Phil again, his hands latching onto Phil’s shirt, pulling him further into Dan. His breathing was all shaky and unsteady, and Phil couldn’t help pulling back, smiling again.

“Dan,” he said. Dan made an impatient noise. “Have you ever done this before?”

Dan frowned. He said slowly, “Is it that obvious?”

Phil hummed, pecking him on the lips again. “Only a little.”

“You weren’t my first kiss,” Dan admitted. “That happened randomly in school, but… only once. And not with tongue.”

Phil was smiling again. He liked the idea of Dan, two years younger than him, inexperienced and shaky breathed and sensitive. “And you like tongue?”

“Yes,” Dan breathed. Phil kissed him again, deeper this time, doing things with his tongue that made Dan moan quietly into his mouth. When he pulled away again, Dan’s cheeks were pink, his lips parted, his eyes glazed.

“Dan,” Phil said suddenly, his heart full and his chest tight. He sat up beside Dan. “I want to tell you something.”

Dan blinked. “What?”

“It’s kind of big,” Phil whispered. “And it’s a secret—you wouldn’t be able to tell anyone.”

“Okay,” Dan said quietly.

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

Phil paused, breathed. “Dan, I’m the Raven.”

For a long moment, Dan was silent. He was silent, but his eyes seemed to be saying a million words. Phil could practically see the gears in Dan’s head whirring away behind them, until he finally opened his mouth.

“That explains a lot,” he answered. “You know, with the whole office hoarding.”

“You went in my office?”

“By accident!” Dan said hastily. Phil just laughed, pressing his face into Dan’s shoulder.

“So… you’re not scared? That I’m out there at night, fighting the Panther?”

“You’re a genius,” Dan answered calmly. “I doubt the Panther could ever hurt you.”

Phil grinned broadly. He was clinging onto Dan’s hand now, and he kissed him once, just real quick, overwhelmed with what he was feeling.

“Maybe you’re underestimating the Panther,” Phil said quietly. He could imagine Dan, one of the countless citizens hiding in their apartment at night, trying to ignore the police sirens and wondering if the Panther were on their own roof right that second. “He’s incredible too. Much too smart for his own good.”

“You’ll beat him,” Dan said confidently. “I’m sure of it.”

There was a long pause. “Maybe _we_  could beat him,” Phil said. Finally, this seemed to surprise Dan. He’d taken the fact that Phil was the Raven easily, but this made him look truly and genuinely astonished.

“I—what?”

“Dan, we’re so smart together. In _sixth grade_  we invented something that could make an entire person float—imagine what we could do now, _together_. We could take out the Panther in one night, I’m sure of it.”

“I—” Dan was speechless. His eyes were wide, his mouth gaping. He was looking at Phil incredulously, and Phil was looking right back at him pleadingly. “I don’t know if…”

“Dan,” Phil said. “You’re a genius. I know you were inventing things before I moved away, I remember seeing you working on them all the time. It’s been _twelve years_. We could invent something to take away his voice, if we wanted!”

“What?” Dan whispered.

“No voice, no persuasion,” Phil said fervently. It was something that he’d been thinking about making for a while now, but he just didn’t know how exactly to go about it. He’d jotted down a few notes occasionally, but so far he hadn’t come up with anything solid. Of course, if he could just invent something to disrupt the Broca’s Area of the Panther’s brain, he wouldn’t be able to talk—but to actually invent something to _do_  that? So far, Phil was clueless.

“I mean, yes,” Dan said, though he sounded almost unsure of himself. “Yes that’s… ingenious, really.”

“So will you?” Phil asked eagerly. “Help me. Beat the Panther with me.”

Dan looked conflicted, but Phil just continued to look at him hopefully, desperately.

“Of course I will,” Dan finally answered. “After all, we make a great team.”


	12. Chapter 12

**SEVEN YEARS EARLIER:**

“Are you paying attention, Mr. Howell?”

Dan was not. He currently had something rather annoying stuck between his teeth and was putting all of his effort and attention into removing it. Finally, _finally_ , it came loose on his thumb nail, and Dan eyed it with disgust before flicking it to the floor. He looked up at his teacher.

Mr. Parson was an old, balding, and easily aggravated man. He hated Dan’s guts, mostly because Dan wasn’t the nicest kid around. He slept during class, never did any of his homework, and only passed his tests because he already knew all of the shit anyway. Mr. Parson seemed to think it was funny to give Dan bad grades; Dan thought it was just as funny to persuade the man not to.

Yes, Dan was was a star student. A student with a record of straight A’s, the occasional, believable B thrown in there, because Dan didn’t want his achievements to look like _over_ achievements. He was probably the only student with near perfect grades who every teacher seemed to despise. Of course, it was looked down upon for a teacher to outright, openly show their hatred for a student, so they did their best to hide it—their best was just really shit.

“Of course,” Dan lied. Mr. Parson glared at him, his hand clenched infinitesimally around the paper he was holding.

“Care to enlighten me then?”

Dan huffed through his nose, annoyance flickering through him. He didn’t have _time_  for this shit. He had much, much better things to do—everything that happened after school hours was more attention worthy for him. But still, everyone in the class was looking at him now, some with raised eyebrows, others with distaste shining in their eyes. Not many people liked Dan, but he could live with that.

He let his eyes flick over to his seat partner’s paper. Her name was Michelle. She took diligent notes and was absolutely terrified of him.

“You were just telling us about the Black Plague,” Dan drawled, and Mr. Parson rolled his eyes. Dan squinted and leaned closer to Michelle’s notebook. “Also known as the Bubonic Plague, the Black Death, and…” he turned to Michelle. “What does that say?”

“La Peste.”

“La Peste,” Dan repeated, looking up at his history teacher triumphantly. Mr. Parson looked about ready to murder. “French, for the plague,” Dan informed him.

“I know what it means, Mr. Howell.”

Dan gave an elegant shrug. “Just making sure, sir.”

Grudgingly, Mr. Parson continued on with class, and slowly the rest of the students turned back around in their seats to pay attention. Michelle was practically quivering at Dan’s side, and he turned to smirk at her.

“Thanks for the help,” he purred, leaning closer to her, his breath washing across her ear. He saw her jaw tighten.

“Any time, Dan,” she said stiffly.

Dan leaned back in his seat, slouching down comfortably and looking up at the board, already bored again. He ran his tongue along the back of his teeth and triumphed when he felt another piece of food stuck in between two—this would be a challenge of the ages!

—

Dan whistled as he walked down the sidewalk, the final bell having just rung. He had to walk to school, seeing as his mother got up early every morning to go to work, and otherwise he would have to ride the bus. Dan didn’t like the bus. And it wasn’t like he could drive himself yet either, seeing as he was only fifteen, though everyone else in his grade could drive by now.

“Why don’t you ask for it back, loser?” someone demanded, loud enough to be heard but not close enough to be seen. Curiously, Dan kept his eyes peeled as he strolled down the sidewalk, not bothering to pick up his pace.

“Not gonna say anything?” the same voice taunted. Dan turned his head as he passed an alley, immediately spotting two figures. The speaker was a man named Bryce, only recognizable because he was known for being the bully around Clarington High. He had too many muscles for someone his age and much too big of an ego for an idiot. The other boy was recognizable for being in Dan’s grade, Piers.

Both Bryce and Piers turned to look at Dan when he appeared in the opening of the alley.

“Beat it, dweeb,” Bryce snapped.

“Dweeb?” Dan repeated incredulously. “What kind of shitty movies are you pulling your lines from?” Bryce looked stumped. Dan felt inclined to believe that the man’s brain was the size of a walnut.

Piers was also glaring at Dan, though technically, he should be looking at him with adoration for being his savior. Piers always glared at Dan when he saw him though, not that Dan could figure out why. Sure, he’d taken Piers’ voice away, but there was no way Piers knew that—Dan had told him to forget, hadn’t he?

_“Now go home and forget you ever saw me!”_

But ever since that night, Piers had very clearly hated Dan’s guts, even if he’d never said anything about it. His friend, Carl, had moved away mere months after the incident. Dan had heard that his family was distraught over the new mutism of their boy, and that they’d hoped a change of scenery would help him.

Maybe Dan had messed up that night. Maybe, telling Piers to forget he’d ever saw Dan wasn’t enough, maybe he still remembered hearing him, or something. Or maybe he just knew that Dan hadn’t spoke for a long time, and then suddenly, he was speaking whenever he wanted, while Piers found himself completely unable to do the same.

Still, even if he did have an inkling that it was Dan who’d done this to him, he’d never alerted anybody. Not that there was anyone likely to believe him, anyway.

“Listen,” Bryce finally said to Dan, taking a step away from Piers and towards him. “If you don’t—”

“No, _you_  listen,” Dan abruptly interrupted. Bryce did. He shut up and listened. “If you don’t stop bullying people you’re gonna regret it. Now go home.” Bryce nodded. He walked away from Piers and past Dan, exiting the alley. Piers was still glaring at Dan. Dan bowed to him, nice, low, and mocking. When he stood back up, he winked and continued on his way.

—

Dan had been having plenty of fun lately. He’d invented a few neat things, first off. He’d made these cool little contact lenses, based off the idea of a cat’s eyes—able to see incredibly well in the dark. He’d even made them look like the actual eyes of a cat, mainly for aesthetic purposes. He’d also been designing this kind of fabric. He hadn’t gotten very far with it yet, but he was trying to make it more resistant and resilient than other fabrics. He’d also created a sort of prototype of a pair of shoes—they lent strong support to his ankles, and along with what little of the fabric he’d begun to successfully make, wrapped around his knees and waist, he could jump from much higher places than most people. And he usually landed safely, too.

All of this was because he found it was fun to sneak out in the middle of the night. He tricked and scared people he saw, all the while brainstorming how to better his own costume. With the contact lenses he could see magnificently, and with those hearing devices he’d created back in sixth grade, now changed to look like a pair of cat’s ears, he could hear anyone coming from a block away. And he wore a mask, of course, though it was hard to find any that didn’t look completely stupid. Eventually he’d have to make his own.

And so Dan waited for something to do. His midnight escapades had started sometime in seventh grade. After Phil moved away, Dan had stopped being so quiet all the time, he’d started using his voice, started talking. He’d started asking for what he wanted, and getting it.

At first, Phil had sent him a few letters. Dan had ignored them of course—he cringed now, thinking back on his ten year old self, telling Phil he loved him. Obviously that’d just been a childhood crush, an infatuation.

Dan suddenly perked up, hearing something out of his left ear. He turned his head to look, although there was nothing to see yet, the sound still far off. And so he waited.

He could hear what sounded like breathing—loud breathing, the panted breaths of someone running. Dan stood up on the store roof he was currently atop of, trying to get a better look. As he watched, a tall, thin figure came pelting around the corner, long hair flying behind her.

And then a man came barreling around the corner as well, his strides long. He was much faster than the girl, and he was gaining on her, clearly close to catching her. The girl glanced behind herself and let out a small moan of despair, trying to run even faster than she already was.

Dan jumped off the roof, sprinting to intercept the two. He’d been running a lot lately, and because of this he was much faster than many others, his regular practice helping him to improve. He stopped in between two stores, watching as the girl and man quickly approached. The girl’s breaths were clear to distinguish and sounded panicked while the man’s were just loud and labored.

As the girl ran past, Dan shot a hand out and grabbed her arm, yanking her back into the alley. She tried to scream, but Dan covered her mouth, sending her a quick, intense look. She looked older than him, maybe by a year or two, though he’d never seen her before.

“Quiet for a moment,” he instructed. She nodded, though she had no choice but to.

The man ran past, Dan now leaning comfortably against the building beside him, the girl stood at his side.

“Whatchya doin'?” Dan asked. The man came to a hasty stop, turning to face Dan, panting idiotically. Apparently he hadn’t noticed Dan reach out to grab the girl, probably thanks to his black-clad outfit.

“Hey!” the man grunted, making a lunge towards them. Swiftly, Dan stepped backwards, using his hand to shove the girl back as well. She sent him a furtive look. Dan tugged his crappy mask tighter onto his face.

“Hello,” Dan greeted. “Whatchya doin’?” he repeated.

“Give me the girl and I’ll let you get out of this alive,” the man growled. Dan quirked an eyebrow, pursed his lips.

“Tempting,” he said. The man growled, and Dan grimaced. What was he, a dog? “How about, you walk away, and _I_  let _you_  live.” Dan punctuated this with a winning smile. The man, apparently not appreciating the finery of Dan’s smile, lunged for him.

Dan darted out of the way. He grabbed the girl, and _jumped_. This was a new part of his shoes he was working on—it didn’t always work, a flaw that he’d have to fix, but thankfully it worked this time. He jumped much higher than one normally would, and he stumbled onto the thin window ledge, a good way above the hulking brute of a man’s head.

“You wait here for a bit,” Dan said, giving the girl his winning smile. _She_ , at least, knew a winning smile when she saw one, and so she nodded. Dan jumped back onto the ground.

“Give me the girl!” the man roared.

“That girl?” Dan asked. He pointed at her, feigning confusion.

Apparently, the attacker didn’t like to play games, or have fun, or appreciate sarcasm. This was looking to be a boring battle indeed.

Although normally, Dan didn’t fight people hand to hand. Usually he stole something, or picked on someone, and ran away laughing as they chased him, managing to escape them just in time. He figured that that was a bit more fun, rather than doing something just because it was _right_ , but he wasn’t about to let some girl get kidnapped right in front of him.

The man’s fist swung towards Dan, and he ducked out of the way just in time, only to be tricked. The man’s other fist was apparently waiting for him, and Dan was struck in the stomach, the air punched from his lungs. Dan glared. He hadn’t wanted to use his persuasion just yet, but he wasn’t about to let himself get beat up either. He often returned home bloody and bruised, but he wasn’t going to let himself get pounded by someone way above his skill level. Maybe that’s why he kept running from (and sometimes fighting) every person he managed to piss off—he was doing some kind of training. He was training to be bigger and better some day, for what, he didn’t yet know.

“Back off,” Dan snapped, as the man came in to punch Dan once again. He did so immediately, and Dan stood up straight, his stomach throbbing. “Tell me why you were chasing this girl.”

“Pretty girls make a lot of money to the right buyers.”

Dan curled his lip—this guy was fucking disgusting.

“Practice fighting with me,” Dan instructed. “But don’t hit me.” And so, without the pain, Dan practiced with the wretched man. He saw where he was sloppy, where he wasn’t quick enough, where he was, in fact, too quick. He saw where he needed to step, how he needed to swing, where he needed to move. And then he grew bored, of course.

“You know the river down south of here?” Dan inquired. The man nodded. Dan nodded back. “Go drown yourself in it.” And the man walked away.

Feeling sweaty and sore, Dan looked back up to the windowsill to retrieve the girl—but she was gone.

“Ah fuck,” Dan muttered. He thought back over what he’d told her—Be quiet for a moment, wait here for a bit. “Fuck,” Dan repeated. Of course, both “a moment” and “a bit” were short amounts of time, but he hadn’t wanted to command something _too_  binding of her in case he forgot to undo it. But this was just rude! Here he was, taking time out of his day to make sure she wasn’t kidnapped by some creep, and she didn’t even stick around to thank him!

Muttering to himself, Dan slunk out of the alleyway and down the street. He noticed a convenience store still open, and with nothing better to do, he stepped inside.

“The fuck?” said the man at the cash register. He eyed Dan, from his black ( _high tech_ ) boots to his cat ears. “The fuck you wearing cat ears for?” he said.

“You’re asking about the ears?” Dan said. “Not the mask?”

“Robbers don’t wears cat ears,” the man said. Dan cocked his head.

“This one does,” he decided. And then he walked up to the counter and held out his hand.

“Yeah right,” the man laughed. “I’m not scared of a little boy in a cat costume.”

Dan jumped—this time, his boots worked again, which was really quite good, as otherwise he would’ve been embarrassed. He jumped all the way up towards the high ceiling, only to land with a crash on the counter. Now the man’s eyes were wide, and with a quick movement he slapped his hand down on some button behind him. Immediately, alarms started blaring throughout the shop, and Dan cried out, the sound magnified in his ears.

“You just had to call the police, didn’t you?” Dan snarled. Not bothering to wait for a response, he kicked the man in the head and stomped on his cash register. It flew open, revealing the day’s worth of money, and Dan snatched it up.

“One day a lot of people are gonna be scared of these ears,” Dan said, walking languidly towards the door. “You’d have been smart to be one of them.”

The man was staring at Dan, bleary eyed, and Dan waved before taking that final step out of the building. He started running after that, but it didn’t take long for the police to find him. Honestly, there was barely anyone out on the streets, and no one was dressed quite like him.

“You’re under arrest!” a cop declared through a megaphone. Yes, Dan was currently surrounded by cops, all of them holding guns pointed his way. Their cars were flashing with red and blue lights, and Dan was squinting in the chaos of it all—but that did not mean he was under arrest. He debated telling them this himself, along with telling them to just go ahead and leave him alone, but he didn’t see where the fun in that would be.

“Stand down, Black Cat!” one officer commanded. Dan wrinkled his nose.

“That sounds lame,” he decided.

“Put your hands up, Catman!” another called. Dan just shook his head.

“No, that one’s lame too.”

There was a loud pop as someone fired off a gun, which Dan was just barely able to jump out of the way of.

“Don’t shoot me!” he shouted in shock, and breathed a sigh of relief when they all put down their guns. Honestly, he wouldn’t be able to deal with getting shot.

Still, Dan hummed thoughtfully. He _did_  need a name, these policemen were right. But Catman just sounded dumb, like a boring imitation of Batman or something. And Black Cat was just plain shit—he wasn’t some idiot little kid, he needed a cool name, one that didn’t make him sound like a fucking twelve year old. No, he needed something better.

“Call me… The Panther,” Dan decided suddenly. That was better, right? It was a black cat, after all, but it didn’t sound nearly as stupid as just outright calling himself it. And Panthers were known for being strong and fast, for stalking prey and climbing everywhere. They were pretty badass. Dan could be a panther.

“Stand down, Panther,” one police officer instructed. Dan grinned.

“Never!”

—

**Junk Mail:**

**Unread messages:**

**1 Message from:** sci.guy@coldmail.com

_Hey Dan! I know it’s been a while, and you’re probably even wondering how I got your email (your mum gave it to my mum who gave it to me, not that I asked)(not that I wouldn’t have asked if I’d known she’d had it) but how are you? How’s school?_

_Alright, that sounds like bullshit, yeah. But I’m just kind of worried for you—I saw on the news that there’s some kind of bad guy attacking people in our neighborhood at night. Or—your neighborhood, I guess. My old neighborhood._

_I just wanted to make sure you’re safe and stuff. Apparently he’s been going by “the Panther”, and some news stations are going so far as to call him some kind of super villain or something. They say he’s somehow really persuasive and that he has freaky gadgets and things. I guess just if you see him, run the other way. I attached a few pictures of him in case you don’t know what he looks like, but apparently he wears all black and is distinguishable by his cat ears (and cat eyes!!!)._

_Stay safe Dan, I miss you! Maybe I can come back to visit some day or something._

_Phil_


	13. Chapter 13

“Can you hand me the pliers?” Phil murmured, and Dan reached over a pile of random crap, managing to find the pliers on the other side. He’d suggested working on their invention elsewhere, but Phil claimed he could think best in his office. Dan didn’t understand how he could think at all, constantly surrounded by the mess.

He gave the pliers to Phil, leaning over him and watching with baited breath as Phil carefully pulled one teeny tiny wire towards another, expertly twisting the ends together. Phil pulled away, letting out a huge whoosh of breath as he did.

“Think it’ll work this time?” he asked. Dan didn’t get a chance to answer—the office door burst open, revealing Remy with a tray of snacks.

“Don’t think that I didn’t notice you two not come out for lunch,” she said, picking her way through the junk.

“We were in the zone,” Phil said, and Remy rolled her eyes.

“Food is important,” she said, and Phil mimicked her quietly, earning himself a glare. Remy carelessly shoved aside some stuff on a neighboring table (Phil made a sound not unalike from a wounded cat) and sat on it, the tray perched on her lap. “Eat up,” she instructed.

Dan leaned around Phil in order to do so, plucking a crustless sandwich off the platter and biting into it.

“You cut off the crusts?” Phil questioned, picking one up for himself.

“They look prettier without them,” Remy claimed, and Phil shook his head in bewilderment before shoving the entire half of the sandwich into his mouth. He picked up their invention, a sort of remote with much too complicated wiring on the inside, and aimed it at Remy. Chewing furiously, he clicked one of the buttons on the remote.

Phil swallowed with difficulty. “Can you talk?” he said.

Remy’s eyes widened. “You’re talking gibberish,” she muttered.

“Damn,” Phil said.

“Aw man,” Dan said solemnly, trying to look the appropriate amount of disappointed.

“Wait, you can’t understand me?” Phil asked, his brows furrowed. Remy was looking at him as if he was speaking Chinese.

“Turn it off,” Dan suggested. “We obviously did something wrong.”

Phil sighed in disappointment, clicking another button on the thing.

"Maybe we should try rewiring the—"

"I think we should just connect the external wires," Phil interrupted, and Dan felt irritation flash across his face before he wiped his expression clean. Remy was staring at him. Dan ignored her.

Dan agreed with Phil, obviously. What he was suggesting made perfect sense, and Dan would've said to do it ages ago—if he actually wanted to make a silencing device.

"Well..." Dan said. "I guess we could, but are you sure we shouldn't—?"

"If this doesn't work we can try your idea next," Phil said, sounding a bit irritated. Dan didn't blame him, he'd been putting off Phil's ideas and suggesting stupid ones all morning.

Dan clenched his jaw. "Fine."

Phil set about carefully pulling apart the device. They worked in silence for a while, all three of them munching on sandwiches and drinking from boxes of apple juice like the adults like they were. After a while, conversation gradually picked back up, something that Dan was having a hard time concentrating on when he knew that the weapon to his destruction was being created right before his eyes.

"Did you know Remy grew up in the same area as us?" Phil said distractedly sometime later. He slid thick goggles down his face, squinting at the wires he was holding. Dan handed him the torch.

"She did?" Dan said idly.

"Yeah. She didn't go to our school though."

"I was at Hillson Middle School," Remy relayed, and Dan hummed in acknowledgement. "I lived there until I came here for college."

"Same," Dan said, and Remy grinned at him.

"Remember when the Panther was in our town?"

Dan paused, his heart thumping loudly in his ears. He cocked his head. "He was?"

"Yeah—what, you didn't know?"

"I definitely emailed you about it," Phil said, pulling the goggles up onto his forehead and standing up straight to look at Dan. "You never did respond, though."

"I don't remember seeing that," Dan said. Phil frowned.

"Yeah, well. He saved me once," Remy piped up.

"The Panther doesn't seem the type to save people."

"That's what I always say," Phil laughed.

"He did," Remy insisted. "This crazy old guy was chasing me."

Dan felt his eyes widen. He schooled his expression back into mild interest.

"Maybe he _does_  have morals," Dan joked.

"He certainly has some sort of code," Phil said. "When I was fighting him the other day he didn't want to use his power against that guy trying to kill us."

"The knife guy?" Dan played along.

"Yeah."

"You know," Remy said suddenly. "When I saw the Panther—he was about your height."

Phil looked away from their invention again, scanning Dan critically. Dan was holding his breath, the hairs on his arms standing straight up, his back prickling with sweat.

"Nah. I think the Panther's a bit taller," Phil decided, and Dan released his breath.

"Maybe that's why he's so evil," Dan suggested. "He's tired of the world being designed for tall people."

Phil laughed, shaking his head with a smile on his lips. He held out the remote. "Think that'll work?"

Dan looked at it. It was perfect.

"Yeah," he finally said. "Let's test this baby out."

—

Knowing that their invention worked only helped to unsettle Dan. At some point he’d have to fight Phil, who would use the device on him. Sure, Dan didn’t want to persuade Phil anyway, but being without his voice, his power… it was terrifying. What if there was an emergency? What if Dan _needed_  it?

“I’m feeling really good about this,” Phil conveyed. They were curled up in Phil’s bed, the covers pulled up to their shoulders and a movie that neither of them had been paying attention to playing on Phil’s laptop.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what Phil was talking about. He talked about it a lot lately. He kept pondering aloud, to both Dan and Remy, why the Panther hadn’t done anything dastardly recently. The answer was simple: Dan was scared. He hadn’t had any time to do anything, to plan anything. Plus, his grand evil plan was starting to look more and more like it was never going to happen. He’d wanted to broadcast his voice over the radio, had wanted to persuade hundreds, maybe thousands of people at a time, just to cause a massive panic. But, well… that didn’t really seem important anymore.

Now, he had to find a way to avoid Phil and his invention without seeming like he already knew about the invention’s existence. And on top of all that, there was that strange, knife-throwing man to contend with. His appearance had really thrown Dan off, had instilled real fear in him. It’d felt a bit like when he’d first met the Raven.

 _“Who the hell are you?”_ he’d said.

But this man hadn’t stopped to say a word. He’d just thrown knives, and not solely at Dan either. He didn’t seem to have a justice complex, not like the Raven—Phil—did. He’d just wanted to kill them both. And he’d found them, somehow. That was nerve wracking as well. Dan had never known how the Raven was always able to find him when he was out causing trouble, but then, he’d never cared too much to prevent it from happening.

“Me too,” Dan finally answered. Phil’s hand had somehow found it’s way under Dan’s shirt. It was resting on his lower stomach, his fingers brushing the soft hairs that grew there. Dan was a bit wary of Phil trying to take things further—partially because, well, he’d never really done anything sexual with anyone else (there was hardly any time when he was wreaking havoc most nights) and also because of his scars. He’d expected them to go away, having taken Phil’s high-tech healing pills, but the stab wounds hadn’t healed completely. There were two shiny, purple lacerations on his torso, which Dan was pretty sure would help Phil to connect the dots pretty quickly. First the Panther gets knives thrown into him, and then Dan has scars in the exact same place? No one was that stupid.

The few times things had started to get too heated, like clothes were about to start coming off, Dan had made up excuses. Of course he wanted to go further with Phil, but...

“I wonder what he’s waiting for,” Phil commented. “He’s barely done anything lately.”

“Maybe he’s scared,” Dan said, and Phil snorted.

“The Panther doesn’t get scared.”

“Everybody gets scared.”

“Not him,” Phil said resolutely.

“Maybe he’s worried about the knife guy,” Dan suggested.

Phil huffed. “I feel childish just calling him the knife guy all the time,” he admitted. “He’s need a proper bad guy name.”

“Robert,” Dan proposed. Phil laughed, rolling onto Dan and smiling down at him. This displaced the laptop, making it slide along the bed as the sheets were yanked along with Phil’s body.

“That’s not what I meant,” Phil said.

“Philip,” Dan tried. Phil, grinning, grabbed Dan’s hands and wrestled them over his head.

“A _real_  bad guy name,” Phil insisted. “Like the Panther.”

“Is that the model you’re going after?” Dan laughed. “How about… the Monkey?”

“No!”

“The Shark.”

“It doesn’t have to be an animal!”

“Yours is an animal,” Dan pointed out. He raised his eyebrows. “Were you copying the Panther?”

“No!” Phil protested. “It just worked.”

“Mhmm,” Dan hummed disbelievingly, and Phil pressed his wrists harder into the mattress.

“The Slayer,” Phil suggested.

“Has he slain anyone?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then it’s inappropriate.”

“Knife Man.”

“Is that any better than knife guy?”

“This is harder than I thought,” Phil sighed. Apparently giving up, he leaned down and kissed Dan. His hand started to snake under Dan’s shirt, and Dan grabbed his wrist, stopping him in its course.

He was trying to think of something witty to say, but Phil just smiled and rolled off him.

“You haven’t had sex before, have you Dan?” he said.

“That’s not it,” Dan lied. He didn’t really know why, but… Well, he didn’t want Phil to think he was weak or innocent or something. When they finally did do it… he didn’t want Phil to be trying to be extra careful. “I just… think we should wait.”

“That’s fine with me,” Phil said, and he reached over to squeeze Dan’s hand. They watched their movie in silence for a few minutes. Dan didn’t know about Phil, but he didn’t even know any of the character’s names.

“Dan,” Phil finally said, breaking the comfortable silence that’d come over them.

“Hm?”

“Why’d you never use my teleporter?” It was so random, so unrelated to anything that they’d been talking about, that for a moment Dan just felt confused.

He blinked. Then he looked at Phil, who was already looking at him.

“I was saving it,” Dan said. It was true—mostly. At first, he _had_  been saving it. And then he’d forgotten about it, if he was being honest. But even if he hadn’t forgotten about it he still wouldn’t have used it. After Phil left, they hadn’t been in touch anymore. It would’ve been weird for Dan to suddenly show up in his room.

“For what?”

“An emergency. I still have it,” Dan admitted. He’d started carrying it around with him lately, just in case. Shyly, Dan pulled the device from his pocket, presenting it to Phil. “You think it would work?”

“I’m sure of it,” Phil said. “After I left, I was afraid that the one I gave you wouldn’t work, so I remade it the exact same way, just to be sure.” And then Phil grinned. “It’s cute that you still have it.”

“Shut up.”

It didn’t take much longer for Phil to fall asleep, the quiet sounds from his laptop lulling him to sleep. He’d assured Dan that he would wake up if the Panther suddenly started strolling along the rooftops.

“How do you find him?” Dan had asked.

“I have my ways,” Phil had smirked.

Now, Phil having been asleep for almost an hour, Dan crawled out of the bed. He couldn’t sleep, and he was hoping a glass of water might ease his anxieties. For some reason he was more nervous about what was to come than was probably appropriate. Even with his voice gone, he was a better fighter than Phil. He was better at being bad than Phil was at being good. He could win, he knew it, so why was he so anxious?

Padding into the kitchen, Dan retrieved a glass from the cupboard, filling it up from the sink.

“You should get water from the fridge,” Remy said. She startled Dan, and he cursed as he jerked in surprise, water sloshing over the sides of his cup. “Sorry,” she said.

“S’okay,” Dan mumbled. He took a sip from his water. “How come?”

“It’s filtered.”

“And this isn’t?”

“I mean, it is,” she hedged. “Not _as_  filtered.”

Dan shrugged. “Filtered enough for me.”

Remy, looking almost guilty, squared her shoulders. “I don’t trust you,” she said.

Dan raised his eyebrows. “Shall we talk about the existentialism of life next?”

“I’m serious,” she said.

“Me too.”

“You don’t make sense,” Remy said, ignoring him. “Things you say don’t always add up. You invent crazy things and yet barely helped with the silencing device.”

“That shit’s advanced,” Dan said.

“You rarely sleep through the night here—it’s like you're nocturnal.”

“Bad habit,” Dan shrugged guiltily. “What are you getting at?”

“Nothing much,” Remy admitted. “But know that I don’t trust you, and I’ve told Phil the same.”

“And what did he say?”

“That I was crazy.”

Dan nodded. “Wise guy.”

“Look,” Remy said finally. “I want to be wrong, but… the Panther lived in our neighborhood. And when you went to college, he went to London.”

“I always thought that madman might be stalking me,” Dan said lightly.

“Stop joking around,” Remy hissed. “You’re the same height and… and the first time I met you, I thought I recognized your voice.”

“I’m not the Panther,” Dan finally said, looking at her sternly. “If that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“I’m just saying that it’s suspicious.”

“I’m going to bed,” Dan finally said. He was aware that he could persuade her, that he could tell her to stop thinking that he was the Panther, but… it seemed wrong, somehow. She was right, after all. And she’d already told Phil she was suspicious of him—what would Phil think if her suspicions suddenly disappeared? Dan would just be proving them right.

When Dan slipped back into Phil’s room, Phil had spread out over the entire bed.

“Scoot over,” Dan whispered, bumping his knee against Phil’s hand, hanging over the side of the bed. Phil grumbled something but moved over accordingly, wrapping his arms around Dan when he laid down.

Dan let out a deep breath. It seemed the water hadn’t helped him sleep after all.

—

Dan put on his suit slowly, for once. Usually he did it fast, his body filled with adrenaline and excitement. Normally he was itching to be on the roofs, to run and jump and watch things explode. But this time, he wasn’t.

Phil had decided that they should spend the next few days apart.

“I need to concentrate,” he’d said. “And if the Panther realized that I lo—erm, am dating someone, he might use you against me.”

“I understand,” Dan had said, and he’d kissed Phil goodbye. By now, it was long past time. He needed to go to the roofs, needed to try to exact his plan and see if Phil would show up. It was already suspicious enough that the Panther had supposedly not been active these last few nights.

After tugging on his boots, Dan stood and bounced a few times, making sure everything was in working order. He could feel the power and tension in them, knowing that all it would take was a little more bend in his knees, a little more pressure beneath his toes, and he would fly further up than any normal person could jump. Dan could remember when he’d first invented his latest version of these shoes—they’d been different than usual and he’d had a hard time running in them, constantly tripping over his own feet. Now, they felt as familiar at his feet did bare.

When Dan emerged on the roof of his building, he felt normal. He felt the familiar excitement, the love of being one with the night, the stars above his head blinded out by the lights of all the buildings. He loved feeling the cold wind, loved the distant sounds from the ground, loved the _smell_  even, like metal and concrete and sky.

And just like that, Dan wanted to do it again—his grand plan. He wanted to persuade the whole city, make them do whatever he wanted. Grinning, Dan ran along the roof, jumping to the next one, his boots propelling him across the gap that should’ve been too wide.

The radio station’s building wasn’t too far away, Dan could probably sneak inside and persuade the public before anyone realized something was wrong.

Although Dan should’ve known his plan wouldn’t work—after all, how long had he been getting thwarted by the Raven?

“Raven,” Dan said breathlessly, the dark shape having shown up on the roof before him, climbing easily over the edge. “I should’ve been expecting you.”

The Raven straightened, and Dan stood there, panting, with a grin on his face. It’d been too long.

But then his grin started to slip, a drop of unease spreading through him.

“Cat got your tongue?” Dan quipped. “Or was it a Panther?” he purred, in that way he knew the Raven hated. Except Phil didn’t answer.

Something flashed in front of Dan, and he barely managed to dart out of the way before it whistled past him, stinging his cheek as it went. Dan hissed.

“Bastard!” he gasped. It wasn’t Phil! It was that… that knife guy! The Slayer, Dan thought reluctantly, Phil’s ridiculous name for him coming to mind.

The fact that it was this man here instead of the Raven made Dan uneasy. Of course, over the years, a couple idiots had tried to be like Phil, had tried to make themselves into a hero and verse Dan, but Dan was quick to dispatch them. He’d never liked fighting with anyone except the Raven, and now this asshole was here. _Again_.

And how had he found Dan before Phil did? Maybe it was a little pathetic but Dan was proud of Phil’s ability to locate him so quickly, and now he was being undermined by a silent asshole.

“Why don’t you put down the knives,” Dan tried to reason. Even from here, thanks to his specialized contacts, he could see the attacker’s eyes narrow into slits. “We can talk this out.”

In answer, the man flung another knife Dan’s way. His movements, his precision, spoke years of practice, louder than any words the man could’ve actually said did. Again, it was a near miss for Dan, and he wasn’t even previously injured this time.

And so Dan took to running. He’d always been good at it, always been fast and nimble, capable of outrunning and hiding from Raven and police alike. But now Dan had to be more careful—now a knife wielding maniac was chasing him with deadly precision, and Dan had to randomly dart in one direction or another when he suspected a knife might be coming his way.

The roofs slid away under his feet as he ran, building after building melting behind him. His pursuer was hot on his tail, only slowed down slightly by the fact that the jumps were harder for him to make. Still, at least Dan was running in the right direction. The radio building was only a couple of blocks away now.

Suddenly, a black shape swarmed up from in between two buildings in front of Dan, and he had to jump even higher than usual, somersaulting over what was _actually_  the Raven in midair as he jumped to the next roof.

“Good of you to show up!” Dan shouted over his shoulder as the Raven was left lagging behind in confusion.

“Shit!” Dan heard Phil curse, and he spun around in time to see Phil dodging out of the way from a knife. “You _again_?”

“That’s what I said!” Dan yelled, laughing as he ran. He watched as Phil flapped his arms, his cape fanning out behind him and stretching into wings, propelling him into the air and away from the attacker.

Phil flew overhead, dodging left and right in the air, way above Dan’s head as Dan leaped from one building to the next.

“Doesn’t he ever talk?” Phil yelled in annoyance. He rolled in midair, barely dodging one of the Slayer’s blades.

“He’s the silent type,” Dan panted in response. While distracted, the Slayer managed to nick him with the edge of a knife. Blood sprouted in its wake, but the injury was only on his arm, meaning his landing gear would be fine. As long as he could keep the legs of his suit intact, he’d be good for escaping.

“Going to persuade him this time?” Phil called from above.

“No way!” Dan answered. He glanced behind himself and decided to take a risk. If he and the Raven split up, the Slayer could only follow one of them.

Dan jumped off the roof.

As always, the sensation of falling was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. The wind whipped past his face harshly, stinging his eyes, and as he always did, Dan felt a moment of panic just before he hit the ground. A mere moment of _what if_? What if this time it doesn’t work? What if his landing gear was broken? _What if?_

Dan grunted with the impact, bending his knees and rolling to keep with the momentum, not wanting to send it all up his legs, into his hips. His landing gear kept him safe, yes, but it was his brain keeping him from getting hurt.

Dan heard the screams almost distantly, as the random pedestrians on the sidewalk suddenly realized that the Panther was in their midst. Dan looked around frantically. He couldn’t see the Slayer anywhere, and Phil’s form didn’t appear to be darting through the air from what he could tell.

Figuring he was safe enough, Dan raced through the crowds. He was really close to the radio building now, and everyone was making it easy too, getting out of his way with desperate shouts and cries.

The main door to the radio station broke easily enough under the force of his kick, amplified about a hundred times by Dan’s boot. The lock snapped and the door flew open, leaving Dan to prowl through the building and catch his breath. He’d stolen blueprints to this building a while ago, so it was with confidence that he strolled through the hallways and towards the recording studio.

The building was big and empty and silent aside from the soft sounds of Dan’s feet. The recording studio was equally dark and quiet, and Dan closed the door behind him, letting his contacts adjust to the complete dark.

There was a big glass panel between the two halves of the room, and with a little exploring and the switch of a few buttons, big red letters appeared above the glass that read **ON AIR**. There were separate channels Dan could pick to broadcast from, so Dan just clicked them all. There was even a button that went directly to the speakers outside the building, only occasionally used for things such as emergencies and holidays.

Dan pulled the glass door open and examined the microphones before him. He had a few ideas of what he could tell the public to do, such as obey him as their overlord or all pick their nose in unison, and he was running through his mental files of destruction when he was distracted.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Dan spun around, looking for the noise. It was quiet enough that he wouldn’t have noticed it without his enhanced hearing, but now that he had, it was infuriating. Annoyed at the sound, Dan began tearing through the room, pulling cushions out of chairs and checking under desks. In the end, he found the source of the sound located in a lightbulb, currently turned off.

Standing on a chair, Dan unscrewed the bulb, finding a small ball of what appeared to be wires inside. Dan tipped it into his hand, and with it came a small slip of paper. _I win_ , it read. Dan looked from the paper to the device, the other side of which was now visible. It had a small screen on it.

 _59_ , it read. Dan was confused. Were there 58 others of this thing? Were there— _58\. 57_.

Dan gasped, dropping the device—a _bomb_ —in surprise. For a second, he panicked. He didn’t know how to disarm bombs! He set them up all the time, but he’d never worried about taking one apart before. Fear clung in Dan’s lungs like tar, tasted like metal in his mouth. Yes, Dan blew up buildings sometimes, but buildings that no one was in, buildings that no one was near, building that wouldn’t _kill innocent people_.

For a bizarre moment, Dan thought it was the Raven who’d done this. _He really wanted to beat me that bad,_  he thought, before rationality caught up with him. The Raven was the good guy. _Phil_  was the good guy, and he would never endanger people like this. And Dan only knew one other villain.

Heart beating irrationally in his chest, Dan moved as quickly as he could, but he felt like he was moving through syrup, like he was in a nightmare. Down by his foot, the bomb read _47_.

Dan grabbed one of the radio’s microphones. “Run!” he screamed. “Run! Get away from the radio building, _go_!”

With luck, his words could be heard outside, could be heard on people’s radios in their cars and apartments. Breath coming unsteadily, Dan tore out of the producing room, scrambling up the nearest staircase he found, his lungs slamming inside his chest, his mouth tasting like blood. Panic was crawling up his spine, lodging his heart by his ears.

Dan burst through the door on the roof, already sprinting, and launched himself to the next building over. Relief flooded through him when he saw people running, running _away_. They were already a good distance, and for a small moment, Dan allowed himself to feel wonder as he realize it’d _worked_. But then the fear came rushing back in—the bomb had been small, sure, but Dan had used smaller bombs before and destroyed entire buildings with them.

How long had it been? Twenty seconds? Thirty? Panting, Dan ran, ran as fast and hard as he could, leaping to the next roof and the next, until—

The explosion was dizzying. Even from the distance Dan managed to get from it, it sent waves of hot, painful heat into him, and bits of shrapnel scraped his face and hands. Somehow, luckily, it didn’t rip the rest of his suit.

Dan kept running, just along a few more buildings, where he then collapsed, panting. His mouth felt raw from how hard he’d been breathing, his legs like jello, his muscles aching. But he was only allowed a moment of rest.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” someone barked. Dan looked up blearily—it was the Raven.

“How are you here?” Dan whispered. He’d told them all to run, how had Phil resisted?

“I saw you go into the radio building and figured the worst,” Phil admitted. “Ear plugs,” he answered. “Even those speakers can’t get through these ear plugs.”

“Listen—” Dan started, but Phil interrupted him.

“No,” he snapped. “Sometimes I think maybe you aren’t too horrid, aren’t too evil, but blowing up that building? There were apartment complexes near there, people _live_  near there. You could’ve killed people!”

 _It wouldn’t be the first time,_  Dan thought, but he didn’t say it. He hadn’t wanted to kill anyone tonight, not anyone innocent.

“I didn’t blow up that building,” Dan finally said, glaring up at Phil. He looked all-powerful like this, his cape billowing behind him, his mask accentuating his features, making them sharp and refined. His weapon belt was stalked, brimming with tools and inventions, all sorts of things to make Dan’s life hell. He’d dabbled with several of them in his time with Phil.

“I’m sick of hearing your lies,” Phil snarled. And then he raised his hand. Dan hadn’t realized he was holding it—the silencer.

 _Wait_ , Dan wanted to say, fear making itself known in his chest, but he didn’t have time. Phil pulled the trigger and a blue light shot directly at Dan’s head. For a moment, he felt no different, but then he opened his mouth.

It was like there was a block in his mind. He knew he wanted to say words, knew he wanted to convey thoughts, but he couldn’t remember how. He couldn’t make his lips form the shapes, couldn’t make the sounds rise from his throat. Desperate, terrified, he looked at Phil, his chest rising and falling too quickly as he started to panic. He couldn’t talk—fuck, he couldn’t talk! At least when he’d been a kid, when he’d been mute, he could’ve broken his silence whenever he wanted to. At least he could _remember how to speak_.

“Like it?” Phil said innocently. “It’s a silencer,” he said. Then he spun it around his finger, looking cocky and proud (which he should, the part of Dan that wasn’t the Panther admitted. He caught the Panther, he did a great job) and tucked it into his belt. And then a figure appeared on the roof behind Phil.

 _Look out!_  Dan tried to say, and couldn’t. Phil was still grinning at him. _Turn around!_  Dan screamed silently in his head, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate, wouldn’t open, wouldn’t _speak_. At the last moment, Dan remembered he had hands. With wide eyes, he pointed.

Phil raised an eyebrow and turned.

That’s when the man threw the knife.

Phil was lucky—it missed him—though it didn’t miss his cape. Dan felt a pang of annoyance for Phil, having been there as he’d complained and set about repairing the delicate fabric.

Dan leapt to his feet, determined to help Phil fight the Slayer, even though Phil had taken away his voice and he was still kind of reeling from it all. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known it was coming, after all. He’d just managed to forget about it, somehow.

Fighting the Slayer was a blur. It was a mix of dodging and attacking, of pulling Phil out of harm’s way at the last second and cursing as knives scratched his arms. Phil’s cape was slowly getting more and more shredded, but Phil didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care.

Curiosity got the better of Dan, along with anger, anger at whoever had tried to kill him and every innocent person near the radio station, and he was on the attack. He dived towards the attacker, dodged knives and skipped closer to him. In the end, it was thanks to Phil that Dan found out his identity. The Slayer’s attention was so concentrated on Dan that Phil was able to fire a weapon at him.

Dan recognized it, a particularly annoying invention that could shoot from long distances away and cling to anything. Many times Phil had shot it at Dan, getting him to slow down or trip. Now, however, it hit the Slayer’s mask, and with a vicious yank, the mask was tugged away from the man’s face.

Dan blinked.

 _Carl?_  he thought and was unable to say incredulously, his eyes widening as he took in the changed but familiar person before him. Carl, who Dan had always thought of as Piers’ sidekick. Dan blinked with sudden understanding as he realized why Carl had never responded to his taunts—he couldn’t speak. Dan had forced him to be silent twelve years ago.

Before Dan could do anything else, Carl whipped out a knife. Dan stepped aside at the last moment, but the knife whistling past him, straight towards Phil’s leg. Dan opened his mouth, panicked, but he couldn’t say anything to warn him. To warn him _not to dodge_.

Phil dodged, taking a neat step to the side. And then his eyes widened, his mouth opening in surprise, as his foot hit empty air and he tumbled over the edge of the building.

Dan’s scream was silent, though his terror roared loudly in his ears. Anger unlike any he’d ever known before felt like fire in Dan’s veins. He took a single step forward and swung his fist so hard into Carl’s head that he crumpled.

There wasn’t any time to think, wasn’t any time for the panic and fear to thoroughly spread throughout Dan’s body, to soak his limbs. There was only time to act.

Phil was plummeting through open air, terrified and alone, his cape shredded.

Dan ripped the teleporter out of his belt and pressed the button—the result was instantaneous. He was gone, and then he was back, but he was falling through air again, and Phil was directly by his side, gasping and flailing his arms desperately as the wind failed to catch through the shredded material.

But Phil noticed when Dan magically appeared in front of him. He noticed when Dan wasn’t there one second and was the next. There wasn’t any time to care.

Dan grabbed Phil and held him in his arms, feeling the adrenaline and terror in his throat once more. He’d never landed with this much weight before, never held another person, never—

Dan hit the ground. He couldn’t roll, thanks to Phil being in his grasp, so the impact rocketed up his body, jarring his knees and hips and back and making Dan cry out. But Phil was safe, and Dan clung to that as he dropped to his knees, pain throbbing viciously through his lower body.

“Is that the Panther?” Dan heard murmurs from the street around him, people talking, their voices too loud and too present. “Did he just catch the Raven?”

“What’s wrong with the Raven?”

“Is that the _Panther_?”

“Fuck,” Phil gasped, panting, his eyes wide with dismay. “Is that—what—” he swallowed thickly. His looked down, looked at the arm wrapped around his body, looked at what Dan was still clutching in his fist. The teleporter.

“ _Dan_?” the Raven said incredulously.

Carefully, Dan set Phil on the ground. And then, on aching, possibly fractured legs, Dan ran, shoving through the crowd and groaning with every step.


	14. Chapter 14

**FIVE YEARS EARLIER:**

“You ready?” Remy said, poking her head into Phil’s dorm room.

“Not quite,” Phil responded. He’d been incredibly busy lately, and with more than all his course work from his classes. He could barely manage to care about all that at the moment. Instead he was concentrating on his newest obsession—beating the Panther. Okay, so he couldn’t exactly do that just yet, especially because he didn’t have any superpowers or any real idea where to find him, but Phil  _was_  going to beat him. Lately he’d been putting all of his time and effort into creating gadgets to fight the villain.

When he’d first heard of the Panther, it’d been on the news. The man had been slinking around Phil’s childhood town, doing enough to stir up trouble and obtain the attention of the news station. In the years since then, however, the Panther had apparently turned to bigger and better things—London. Now he spent his nights wreaking havoc around the city, jumping from the tops of buildings and persuading innocents.

And it wasn’t like Phil had always thought that he should do something to stop the Panther. Of course he didn’t! That stuff was best left for the professionals, surely? But his mind had been very thoroughly changed—by the Panther himself. The Panther had shown up on the morning news, destroying an entire news station and scaring the public shitless.

“You can’t stop me,” he’d said, his smile big and maniacal, his eyes wide with excitement. “You can only watch.”

 _Like hell I can_ , Phil had thought, and from that day on he’d been preparing himself to verse the asshole.

"Hurry up," Remy commanded, leaning heavily on his door. She squinted, taking a further step into the room. "What are you doing in here anyway?"

"Nothing!" Phil exclaimed. He slammed shut his journal, full of notes and illustrations and insomnia-induced, feverish formulas, and spun around. "I'm ready to go."

"Wearing  _that_?"

Phil glanced down at himself self consciously. It only took Remy minutes to redress him in something she found appropriate for clubbing, and then they were heading out of their dorms, meeting some of their other friends in front of the building.

"Took you two long enough," Jason grumbled.

"They were probably shagging," Ricky snickered, and ignoring Phil's protests, headed off. Phil never really liked club nights. The music was too loud and he always ended up drinking too much and not having enough of a good time for the money he'd spent. He'd much rather stay inside and write the essays he'd been procrastinating (or, more likely, continue to work on his villain-fighting gadgets).

"Budge up," Jason said, joining him in his booth. He was carrying two shots, one of which he handed to Phil. Remy showed up with a shot for herself and Ricky, and on three they all downed them, grimacing as they did.

"That shit never gets better," Ricky commented. Phil opened his mouth to reply, possibly something petulant and along the lines of  _why do we keep drinking it then?_  when someone, somewhere towards the front of the club, screamed.

This was followed by more screams, which had Phil and his friends all sharing anxious and, let’s be honest, intrigued looks. “What the hell?” Jason muttered, and in silent unison, they all stood and squirmed their way towards the front of the club. It was already hard enough to move through packed places full of drunken adults, but now it was extra hard, seeing as these adults were both drunk and curious and, unfortunately, full of bravado thanks to their inebriation.

“I’ll fight whoever the fuck’s out there,” one man with an impressive beard proclaimed to his friend, punching his fist into his own hand a few times threateningly. “I’ll just fucking wham em.”

“Nuh uh, not if  _I_ get there  _first_ ,” his friend slurred. Rolling his eyes, Phil squeezed through these people, his friends following in his wake. He was decidedly more curious than the rest of the lot, he figured, and more sober too. If anyone could actually do something about it it was probably him, still sane enough of mind to call the police if need be.

“Holy shit!” someone near to door shouted, and Phil finally shoved his way out of the club, stumbling into the significantly less stuffy air of the night, the cool breeze hitting him like an angel’s breath. God, he hated clubbing.

The street was packed—and not just with people. All around people were storming out of shops and restaurants to see what all of the commotion was about. But it was the cars that were truly the problem, so backed up a person couldn’t squeeze between them, all bumper to bumper. Their horns were blaring in a symphony of annoyance, and almost distantly, Phil realized that even  _police cars_  were stuck in the traffic, and what the fuck was that all about?

It all came together when he heard the laughter. Of course—how hadn’t he realized already? As one, the crowd’s gaze was drawn upward, to where the Panther was sitting on a window ledge, his feet dangling into the air below him. The man whistled lowly.

“Now that’s a traffic back up,” he said. People were gasping, pointing, shouting and screaming when they realized who was there. Phil felt himself glower.

“What a pillock,” Ricky muttered.

“It’s that Panther guy,” Jason said dumbly. “The one Phil never shuts up about.”

Now, people had stopped blaring on their car horns so much and were actually throwing their doors open, stumbling out of their cars and into the night, running in streams away from the villain. He was grinning, his eyes slowly taking in all the chaos he had caused. Phil didn’t doubt that this wasn’t the beginning of it, that further down the road somewhere there was a fire or a flood or some stupid thing that didn’t seem possible but was because the Panther had orchestrated it.

It was scary to think about, but it was in times like these, when the city was in a panic—sirens blaring; news reporters dashing forward, filming the chaos from a safe distance away—Phil knew the Panther was the conductor of all this. He held the baton and the rest of the city played his song.

“Put your hands in the air!” a police officer shouted bravely. He’d gotten out of his car, had climbed on top of it, in fact, and was pointing his gun directly at the Panther. Other cops, thinking this a good idea, began to do the same. Suddenly there were a whole lot of guns pointed at a single man, a man who looked entirely too unafraid to be facing the prospects he was.

“You’d shoot an unarmed man?” he questioned. In answer, a single officer fired his gun. The window behind the Panther exploded, and the Panther didn’t even flinch. The bullet could’ve hit him and he  _didn’t even flinch_. “Well now that was just rude,” the Panther muttered, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. “Did you know this is a residential building?”

Hearing those words, Phil wondered, almost hysterically, if there was some sort of insurance for this.  _Whether he blows up your home, crashes your car, or spits on your new Gucci shoes, Panther Insurance is here for you!_

Another gunshot rang out, and then another, and the  _pop pop pop_  of them filled the air like cannons, bouncing off the high buildings all around them as the Panther elegantly slipped off the window sill and landed on the ground smoothly. He jumped up onto a car, and at this point the gunshots had stopped. Maybe the officers had realized how stupid there were all being, seeing as there were pedestrians all around, their bullets having been able to hit any one of them.

The Panther strolled along the cars, from trunk to roof to hood, with his hands in his pockets. He started whistling.

“Who does this fucker think he  _is_?” Remy demanded angrily.

Phil had never been this close to the Panther before. He had to admit, television didn’t quite pick up the sheer amount of  _arrogance_  this man carried about him. He barely passed five foot, was so skinny mothers would be scared to hand him their babies, but his aura was  _terrifying_. His power was undeniable, his unfaltering belief that he would make it away from any situation, even a street full of armed policeman, knee-quaking. This man was so very clearly someone not to be messed with, yet if you saw him in any other situation, he would be completely unassuming. And Phil wanted to fight him.

It was unfortunate that he didn’t have any of his gadgets with him. He’d really only created a few things, weapons and tech that only seemed to work half the time, but seeing the Panther up close made him want to jump on the cars as well and demand him to surrender. Of course, he couldn’t do that now—it’d be completely idiotic, for one thing, not to mention the fact that the Panther would then know his face. Gritting his teeth, Phil made himself a mental note: make a costume. He certainly couldn’t fight the Panther before he could protect his own identity.

Somewhere, a baby was crying. Phil could hear it, its thin, high wails just loud enough to make him glance around, wondering where the kid was.  _Be quiet_ , he almost wanted to urge.  _Or the Panther will hear you!_

The Panther turned towards a police officer, the one who had fired the first shot. “Hear that?” he said. The officer raised his gun, his hands trembling. Even from here, Phil could see the Panther roll his cat-eyes. “We both know you won’t hit me, even if you shoot,” he sneered. “Do you  _hear that_?” he repeated. Slowly, the officer nodded.

“It’s coming from there,” the Panther said. He nodded his head towards the broken window, and it clicked into place. The sound  _was_  coming from the window, Phil was sure of it. “Maybe it’s just scared—it’s not every day a baby’s window is shot open,” he said casually. “Then again, maybe you shot it.” The Panther shrugged, as if it didn’t concern him. “Maybe you shot its mother!”

“Shut up!” the officer yelled. “I didn’t—”

“Ah, but you don’t  _really_  know, do you?” the Panther said. His grin split across his face like the cheshire cat, his teeth too white in the darkness. “Guilty conscious and all, I totally get it,” the Panther said amicably. “Alright fine! You don’t have to ask me—I’ll check.” The crowd gasped as the Panther leapt off the car and onto a window sill, much too high to be possible.

“Do not enter that house!” one officer yelled, his voice echoing in the—Phil realized now—oddly silent street.

“Or what?” the Panther demanded. “You’ll shoot me?”

With that, he leaped to another window sill, and another, and then he was ducking into the broken window, people on the street crying out, gasping, shouting with fear. Abruptly, the baby’s cries cut off—Phil hadn’t even realized he could still hear them over all the noise until they’d stopped. People on the street were hushing each other, some of them sobbing.

Suddenly, the Panther appeared on the window sill again, this time carrying the baby. He sat down, leaning against the side of the window.

“That’s enough!” someone shouted. “You’ve done enough!”

“Put the baby  _back_!”

“Stop!”

“Shh!” the Panther said. Just that sound, barely audible over everyone else, made the entire street fall silent. “The baby’s  _sleeping_.” Phil hadn’t been speaking before, but he realized, now, that he couldn’t if he wanted to. His lips felt glued together. He could hear the baby gurgling quietly, cooing in the villain’s arms.

 _Don’t hurt it_ , Phil thought desperately.  _No one can be that evil!_

The Panther’s head whipped around, hearing something that the rest of them couldn’t. He stared intently into the house, where a door inside burst open, totally audible with the street’s unnatural silence. This was followed by a sharp gasp.

“No!” a woman moaned. “No  _please_ , not my son! Not my son!” The Panther was holding the baby securely against his chest, even bouncing it slightly. Phil couldn’t help wondering how old this man was. He must have been right around Phil’s age, and yet this villain, this psychotic asshole, was good with handling babies.

“You have a beautiful son,” the Panther told her. And, surprisingly, he held out the baby, letting the woman come all the way forward and take him. She clutched him to her chest, sobbing as she held him, and the Panther stood back up on the window sill, stretching.

“I’m knackered,” he announced, looking around the crowded street. He glanced at his wrist, where a watch glinted. “Is it that late already?” he said, to apparently no one. “Well I’m off, you lot can go about the rest of your night.” As he said this, Phil felt his lips becoming un-glued, as did everyone else, who began shouting again.

“Ugh, let’s go home,” Remy said, clutching onto Phil’s sleeve. “I can’t possible get drunk after that.”

—

It was only thanks to Phil’s already unnatural intellect that he wasn’t failing all of his classes. He barely had it in him to attend his lectures and take notes, much less write essays and do projects. Even more of his time was now spent towards becoming the person that could combat the Panther, ever since that night he’d seen him so close.

The Raven, Phil was thinking of calling himself. He figured it sounded dangerous and cool enough. A superhero name he hoped the public could rally behind, though there wasn’t really anything “super” about him—other than his ability to invent things. He’d already made a mask, now, so he had his identity covered in case he ever ran into the Panther again. And he’d been keeping some of his weapon prototypes with him at all times, ready to strike if need be.

Still, he wasn’t going to go out looking for the Panther anytime soon. He certainly wasn’t quite ready for that, though he had started to come up with a plan for locating the other man. It’d taken much longer to create than he would’ve hoped, but he’d made these teeny tiny devices which he could stick to the roofs of buildings. They could detect vibrations of a certain level, meaning they’d feel it if someone was running along the rooftops they were located on. Alone, they weren’t much, but if Phil kept working on them, if he spread them out across the whole city, he could make a map, of sorts.

Currently, they were only located on a couple buildings around the city, in places Phil had already seen him on the news and near the center of the city, where he felt the Panther was more likely to cross on his way from one place to another. Only twice now had any of Phil’s devices picked up movement, sending their recordings to the virtual map Phil had made, but both times they’d been right. The news had shown as much.

Phil was proud of the things he’d made, but it wasn’t like these inventions he was making to combat the Panther were the first he’d ever created. He’d made all sorts of things in high school, though now, thinking back on it, Phil wondered if he should pop back home and see if any of that junk could possibly be useful in a battle. He’d even created things in middle school, Phil suddenly remembered. He’d made a teleportation device—one use only—and that sort of magnetic laser pointer with Dan.

Phil blinked hard. It wasn’t often he thought of Dan, and he always felt a little off when he did. Their friendship had burned so brightly, the short year that it’d lasted, but he was definitely the closest friend Phil had ever had. Still, thinking of Dan left a bitter taste in his mouth, as he couldn’t help thinking of how their friendship had ended on such a sour note. Dan had become a bit withdrawn after he’d learned Phil was moving away, only to reveal, in the middle of the night like a cheesy drama, that he was in love with him. And Phil had only been twelve! What was he  _supposed_  to say?

Either way, “oh” was apparently not it. Dan had refused to say goodbye to Phil after that, and they hadn’t talked since. Phil had tried to send him an email, once, but… Well, maybe he’d had the email address wrong after all. And maybe it was a bit shitty of him to only send Dan an email after all those years had passed. But he’d been worried. He’d heard about the Panther, and he’d thought of Dan, possibly oblivious, living in the very same town.  

Occasionally, Phil wondered what it might have been like if he’d been a bit brighter as a twelve year old. If he’d told Dan that it was okay that he loved him, or if he told him that he wasn’t quite sure right then but maybe, when he was older, he would know if he was actually interested in boys. Instead, all Phil had to show was an abruptly ended friendship and memories that shone too brightly which nobody else could see. And it was stupid to miss a childhood friendship so much, wasn’t it? He’d been twelve at the time. He was nineteen now.

Stupidly, Phil’s mind did the math anyway.  _Dan will be seventeen now,_  it informed him.  _Thanks for nothing_ , he informed himself. Seventeen and in college, the very same grade as Phil—unless he’d decided not to go. Phil doubted this, somehow. Dan had been a super genius at ten years old, he simply couldn’t see him not furthering his education.

With an annoyed huff, Phil shook his head, trying to get rid of his thoughts of Dan.  _Now’s not the time to think of him,_  he told himself.  _I have to concentrate on the Panther._


	15. Chapter 15

It wasn't very often that you experienced a plot twist in your very own life. In the time Phil wasn't wasting running around the city as the Raven, he was often watching movies and tv shows. Occasionally there would be an episode with a twist so big, a moment so jaw-dropping, that Phil would feel it for days afterward. This felt kind of like that. Like he'd been kicked in the gut while simultaneously being sucker punched right in the face. In that moment, Phil wished he'd invented something that could stop time, as he needed a few minutes, maybe days, to just sit there and review everything that had just happened.

The Panther had tried to do something really evil, which was normal and also not at all surprising. And then Phil had  _actually silenced_  the Panther, maybe the biggest achievement he'd ever had against the other man. And then the knife guy, the Slayer, had shown up, which was both annoying and a nuisance in general, and things had gone to shit. Phil had tumbled off the roof, his wings ruined, and for a few, terrifying seconds, he'd thought  _this is it_.

He'd wanted to clench his eyes shut, hadn't wanted to see himself meet the ground, but for some reason he couldn't do it. He'd kept them open, breathless, silent as he fell. And then, out of absolutely nowhere at all, the Panther had been there, falling next to him—holding Phil. Just like he'd teleported.

And then, Phil realized, he  _had_  teleported. And in his hand...  _in his hand_...

"Get back here!" Phil shouted, scrambling to his feet on legs that felt like jello. The crowds around him was parting, naturally. It was something the city was used to. You got out of the way for the Panther and you stayed out of the way while the Raven chased him.

Phil's heart was beating an erratic, painful rhythm in his chest. Everything inside him  _protested_.

It couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t be. But then, the proof was right there! And God, how hadn't Phil seen it before? Same height, same curly hair, just brown wisps above the edge of his mask. The Panther was so evil, and Dan so good, there was just no way Phil would've ever thought to compare the two.

The Panther was running oddly, much slower than usual. Phil shook his head, then. It was Dan, not the Panther, who was running weird. Phil gave chase, unable to keep his mind from wandering as he pursued... his boyfriend. And what was he going to do when he caught him? Turn him in? Kiss him? Break up with him?

 _He knew I was the Raven,_  Phil thought.  _He knew he was fighting me, I told him myself!_

Suddenly, Phil was running twice as fast. He wasn't just chasing the Panther—law breaker, havoc wreak-er, chaos bringer—he was chasing  _Dan_ , his stupid, lying boyfriend. His childhood friend. His Panther.

God, had he had his power his whole life? Even back when Phil was friends with him? When he always refused to talk?

Phil stumbled, then, before regaining his footing. People were screaming and cheering him on all around. The Panther— _Dan_ —darted into a random building, and Phil followed.

Was this why Dan had been mute back then? Had he known what he could do, what destruction he could manage, and tried to avoid it? If so, why had he stopped?

Angry and hungry for answers, Phil pounded up the stairs after Dan. He caught up with him on the roof, Dan limping in a half-jog away from Phil. If he jumped off the roof, well, not only would Phil not be able to chase him, but he’d also probably injure his legs even more, the idiot. With a last burst of speed, Phil sprinted forward, his hand outstretched—

Dan ducked, fast as always, even with his injury. He backpedaled away from Phil, his cat-eyes wide and darting, trying to find some way to escape. Like hell Phil was going to let Dan, the Panther, get away this time. This time he was going to win.

They fell into almost a familiar rhythm after that, and for a moment, everything felt normal. Phil wasn’t fighting someone he loved, someone who he thought was good but was apparently evil. He was just fighting the Panther, the genius Panther who somehow always managed to escape.

It was no surprise, then, when Dan expertly evaded every invention Phil aimed at him—after all, he knew about all of them now, knew how they worked and how to avoid them. This only proceeded to make Phil angry again, furious.

Phil charged forward and swung his fist, and for once, Dan was too slow to dodge it. It connected with his jaw, making his head snap in the other direction, and Dan made a low groan from the back of his throat, the only noise he seemed capable of producing, at the moment. Phil kept punching at Dan, who only seemed able to block a handful of them. But he didn’t fight back, didn’t try to hurt Phil.

Dan tripped and they fell to the roof together. Phil straddled Dan, pinning his hands down, glaring at him.

“How could you?” he demanded. Phil realized, abruptly, that he was crying. And how long had be been crying for?

Annoyed, Phil dug into his belt for the silencing device. He aimed it at Dan. He didn’t think before he pressed the button. Didn’t think about how he was giving Dan his power back, how Dan could persuade him, take control of him, do whatever he wanted with him. He just pressed it, just watched as Dan gasped, the sudden remembrance of how to speak invading him.

“Phil,” he breathed. And just like that, Phil couldn’t stand him.

“HOW COULD YOU?” he roared, and he slammed his fist down into Dan’s face, taking pleasure in the way his head whipped to the side in recoil. Dan groaned, and Phil yanked off his own mask, tired of the way it clung to his skin. He wanted Dan to see him, wanted Dan to see his face as he beat the everloving shit out of him.

“You bastard,” Phil whispered, barely audible amongst the solid and dull sounding thuds of his fists, connecting with Dan’s chest, chin, face. Finally, bloody and in pain, Dan managed to catch one of Phil’s fists, holding it away from him. Phil’s entire arm shook with the pressure he was putting into it, trying to punch Dan, to make him hurt the way Phil was hurting.

“Phil,” Dan breathed again, and even in pain, even with blood on his face, it sounded wonderful. Phil  _loved_  it when Dan said his name. He loved  _Dan_ , for fuck’s sake—so why did he have to be the Panther? Why did he have to ruin everything?

Before Phil knew it, they were kissing. He didn’t know who started it, didn’t know who was going to stop it. All he knew was that he was gasping into Dan’s mouth, the fucking Panther’s mouth, and Dan was clinging to him, his fingers digging into Phil’s back as he whispered his name over and over again.

“Oh fuck you,” Phil groaned. They’d never kissed quite like this, quite so intently, and of course it had to happen just after he’d found out his boyfriend was the one he’d been fighting all these years, trying so hard to take down, to beat.

“Phil,” Dan gasped, and he arched into Phil who moaned, grinding down into Dan, breaking their kiss and panting, their breaths mingling in the air between them. Dan was still wearing that stupid fucking mask, and it filled Phil with rage to see it.

“Take that thing off,” Phil demanded, and Dan slipped it off, no problem. Phil didn’t doubt for a single second that had he tried to take it off himself it would’ve stuck to Dan’s face regardless, with some stupid ingenious technology he’d created. Phil was angry—more than angry, he was pissed the fuck off, and he took it out on Dan, grinding into him so harshly their bodies were jolting against the concrete of the roof below them.

Dan’s fingers scrambled against Phil’s clothes. They tore off his ruined cape and moved frantically across the complicated buttons and latches of Phil’s suit, somehow undoing them all expertly. While Dan did that, Phil fumbled around Dan’s suit for some kind of zipper or  _something_ , but he couldn’t figure out how to take off his suit. And wasn’t that just a perfect metaphor for every fight they’d ever had? Dan, one step ahead of him, knowing just what to do and when to do it, and Phil, struggling behind him.

Except it wasn’t the perfect metaphor, as this time Dan helped him, undoing a minuscule button and then his whole suit was peeling away from his skin, rolling off him, and he was lying beneath Phil in just his underwear. An annoyed, disbelieving laugh escaped Phil as he examined Dan, two purple scars decorating his torso.

“It really was you,” he muttered, before ripping off his own suit. And yes, maybe that was a stupid thing to say, but even this whole time, a tiny, minuscule part in the back of Phil’s brain had still been hopeful.  _Maybe he’s not really the Panther,_  it had said, uselessly.  _Maybe there’s some sort of explanation._  But here was Dan, decorated with scars the Panther had gotten not too many nights ago.

Phil pushed his annoyance out of his mind and into Dan’s body. It felt better this way, he could feel Dan better. No doubt Dan could feel the roof better too, scratching against his bare skin, but at the moment Phil couldn’t find a single dreg of him that cared. He tore Dan’s underwear off, swallowing Dan’s gasp beneath him. His boxers followed suit, and then they were both naked, gloriously naked. Half of Phil wanted to pull back and start laying into him again, punching his bare skin with his bare fists, but the other half, maybe more than half, was perfectly content just doing this.

His legs were sunken in between Dan’s, which kept spreading wider and wider apart as Dan bucked up into him, gasping and wincing and moaning. Phil sat up on his knees then, hooking his hands under Dan’s knees and pulling him closer. He was more exposed like this, his pert arse a few inches above the roof, held up thanks to Phil. He was resting mainly on his upper back and elbows, panting as he stared up at Phil with wide eyes.

“Suck,” Phil demanded, his voice almost coming out bored-sounding as he shoved three fingers in front of Dan’s face. Dan’s eyes widened but he opened his mouth, making a surprised noise when Phil quickly shoved them further in. Phil waited, raising an eyebrow, and Dan swirled his tongue around them, a blush prominent on his cheeks.

Normally, Phil wouldn’t let his first time with a new person be so… well, rough. In college, with every boyfriend and girlfriend, their first time had been soft and sweet, on plush beds with pleased hums filling the air and frantic questions and reassurances spilling between them. Now, all Phil really felt was angry, and inexplicably—horny. And Dan was here. And he was his boyfriend—though Phil wasn’t sure for how much longer.

Phil yanked his fingers from Dan’s mouth without warning, making Dan gasp. He then spared a second to circle them around Dan’s hole, feeling Dan tense a bit, and shoved a finger in. He worked Dan quickly, sloppily, almost. He stretched Dan wide, hardly trying to find his prostate. Now wasn’t a time for soft, pleasurable sex. It needed to be hard and fast, hot and sharp. By the time Phil had three fingers in Dan, Dan was shaking, one of his knees still held up by Phil’s hand, the other flung carelessly over his shoulder.

Phil spat into his hand, working it quickly over his cock, and lined up with Dan. He was about to shove his way in, about to fuck Dan into oblivion, when Dan gasped— “Wait!”

He had no choice. So wait he did, his cock in one hand, pressing hotly against Dan’s rim, while Dan looked up at him, wide-eyed—

“Fuck!” Dan gasped. “I mean—I mean, please wait.” Just like that, the weight was lifted from Phil, his body thrumming with energy he hadn’t known had been sapped. He felt ready, ready to fuck Dan so hard into the roof, but…

“What?” he grit out.

Dan bit his lip, his eyes darting from one side to the other. “I—I—”

“Dan.”

Dan heaved a deep breath. “Just—can you go slow?”

“What?”

Dan was blushing. “Can you do it slowly?”

“We’re about to fuck on a roof and you want it to be slow?” Phil said incredulously. For a bit it’d seemed like this, the sex, had been another part of their battle. Throwing punches one moment, fucking each other the next, so what? But going  _slow_?

“Yes please.”

Phil frowned. “Dan—are you a virgin?”

“Wha— _of course not!_ “ Dan replied, but he wasn’t really looking into Phil’s eyes anymore, not really. And he swallowed, a bit of a nervous kind of swallow, and Phil let his mouth drop open.

“You  _are_!” he exclaimed. “You were about to let me take your virginity  _on a roof_?”

And for a moment, it wasn't the Raven and the Panther. It was Phil and his boyfriend, his stupid, idiot boyfriend, and his heart swelled. He knew he shouldn’t love him so much, not anymore, anyway, but he just couldn’t  _help_  it. You couldn’t choose who you loved, couldn’t change it between one heartbeat and the next. And right now, horrifically, he was in love with Dan, the man who was the Panther.

“I can let you take it wherever I want!” Dan said furiously. Phil had already scooted away from Dan though. God, he’d stretched him so hurriedly, so un-lovingly. Dan couldn’t possibly have enjoyed that!

And suddenly, it wasn’t a fight against the Panther anymore. He didn’t want to beat the shit out of Dan, didn’t want to bloody him enough to make him see the error of his ways. He wanted to fuck him so good, so sweetly, that Dan had no choice but to become better, just so he could have a chance at having Phil again.

And so Phil grabbed his shredded cape, spread it out beside Dan with an expert shake, and flipped Dan onto it. Dan squeaked as he was moved, and he tried to struggle upward for a moment, but Phil just pressed down on his hips, carefully spreading his legs apart.

“Just relax,” Phil told him. And for a moment, it was like  _he_  was the Panther, the one capable of persuading someone to do whatever he wanted, because Dan went limp in front of him, spreading his legs even more. And then Phil was between them, one hand on Dan’s arse as he licked a smooth, steady stroke over his puckered skin.

“Phil!” Dan gasped, jerking with surprise. Obviously, he hadn’t been expecting that. And even more obvious, now, was the fact that he’d never even experienced any of this before. It made Phil want to do everything with him, made him want to make Dan feel good in every way possible.

So he lapped Dan, made him writhe and whine with his tongue, one of his hands having come up to cradle his balls, laying flat against the cape below him. Phil rolled them in his hand, his thumb stroking over them as he ate Dan out. His other hand was just stroking carefully over Dan’s side, feeling his panted breaths, his gasps.

Phil pulled up for air, moving his lower hand and slipping it inside Dan instead. Dan made a choked noise, squeezing desperately around Phil.

“You know,” Phil said casually. “For all the slutty shit you used to say to me as the Panther, it’s kind of hilarious to find out you’re a virgin.”

“I’m not—”

Phil crooked his fingers, angling his index  _just so_ , and… Dan yelped, bearing down on Phil’s hand.

“What the  _fuck_?” Dan gasped, and Phil pressed against it again, rubbing against it now, and Dan was shaking, shivering under him. “Phil—oh my God!”

And then, as Phil’s tongue flicked against Dan’s rim, Dan cried out, squeezing sporadically around him and—

Phil felt his eyebrows draw together. He sat up, incredulous. “Did you just come?”

Dan was beyond embarrassed. The second Phil slipped his fingers from inside him, he sat up, his face flaming red. “I’m so sorry!” he gasped. There was a white stain on Phil’s cape, and Dan’s release was smeared on his stomach.

“It’s okay,” Phil hastily assured, drawing his eyes back up to Dan’s face. Mortified, Dan bit his lip.

“I can still go,” he whispered. “I—I want you to fuck me.” He laid back down, spreading his legs wide, and panted up at Phil. “Please.”

Phil could hardly deny that request. He smeared the mess from Dan’s stomach onto his fingers and then his cock, Dan blushing all the while. And then he was lining up, caressing Dan everywhere he could reach, and pushing in slowly.

Dan gasped, his eyebrows drawing in as Phil breached him, pushing in and in and in. Dan was good about it, and he was already stretched well too, and he even arched up a bit as Phil slid into him, until he was seated, Dan’s arse pressed against his hips.

“You’re—you’re big,” Dan breathed. He was staring at Phil with lidded eyes, his chest heaving, his hands scrambling against the fabric of Phil’s cape beneath him.

“Hurt?” Phil panted. Dan paused before shaking his head. Still, Phil took it slow. He pulled out slowly and pushed back in, watching Dan’s face intently for any sign of pain. But Dan’s eyes just fluttered closed, his breath hitching the next time Phil pushed all the way in. Phil did it again, this time angled just a little bit differently, and—

“Oh!”

Smirking now, Phil did it again, and again, and then faster and harder. Dan was writhing beneath him, trying to fuck himself on Phil’s own cock, arching up and twisting his hands in Phil’s cape and tilting his head back as he panted, the long column of his throat exposed to the sky.

Phil could hardly help speeding up, going faster, but Dan didn’t appear to mind. He started whispering something under his breath. “Please, please, please.” And then— “Faster, faster, faster!”

Phil had to comply, not that he didn’t want to, and was going even faster, snapping into Dan and making him cry out.

“Harder!” Dan murmured, and then Phil was doing that too, his hips slamming into Dan’s arse, so hard it almost hurt. But Dan didn’t look in pain, he was just sweaty and moaning and shaking.

“Fuck,” Phil whispered. “Fuck, Dan, I’m close.”

And then Dan looked at him, his eyes open wide, and said, “Don’t come yet.”

So Phil didn’t. His orgasm built in him, up and up, higher and higher, but no release was forthcoming. The urge to come was so strong, almost painful, but Phil just kept fucking into him fruitlessly. He whimpered, thrusting so hard and fast that he surely could’ve came at least twice by now, moving like this, but still he didn’t. It felt like it was boiling under his skin, felt like it was about to burst through his very pores.

“Dan!” Phil cried out. “God—please Dan please, let me come, fuck!”

“Okay,” Dan breathed, but that wasn’t really a command, it did nothing for Phil.

“Dan,” Phil moaned. He was sure he was a blur, moving so fast there was no way anyone could properly see him. “ _Please_!”

“Yes, yes, come Phil,” Dan groaned, and Phil cried out, snapping into Dan one last time and holding him close, holding him tight as his orgasm rushed through him, almost painful, his blood and bones on fire inside of him as he shook, shivered, coming deep inside Dan. And Dan was coming too, for the second time, twitching around Phil and holding him just as close, panting into his neck.

“Fuck,” Dan panted. “Didn’t mean—didn’t mean to persuade you, then. Sorry.”

“S’okay,” Phil murmured, and he pulled out of Dan as carefully as he could before flopping on top of him, covering his body with his own. They were both panting, both covered in sweat, sore and spent, but Dan breathed his name.

“Phil,” he said again, when Phil didn’t answer the first time.

“What?”

“What are you going to do with me? About the whole—Panther thing.”

“Deal with it later,” Phil decided, letting his eyes slip shut as he sunk into oblivion.

—

In the end, it was the morning’s breeze that woke him. Mainly because he’d never been naked outdoors before, and feeling a breeze on your cock was a bit disconcerting. Even more disconcerting was the heat of the body lying next to him, practically on top of him. He’d expected Dan to run away in the night, but he hadn’t, though maybe everything would’ve been easier that way. Instead, the sun was rising slowly over the horizon, and Dan was staring up at him, his chin resting on Phil’s chest.

“You’re awake,” he pointed out.

“As are you.”

Dan swallowed thickly. “You’re not gonna turn me into the police, are you?”

Phil felt a bit odd having this conversation naked, his cock flaccid and resting on his thigh, but then, he could feel Dan’s stiffy pressing against his other thigh, so he guessed it wasn’t  _too_  bad.

“It’d kinda suck to turn my boyfriend into the cops,” Phil admitted.

“So we’re still dating?” Dan said, sounding hopeful.

Maybe Phil should’ve thought about it longer, should’ve followed logic instead of his heart, but he said, “Well we just had sex, didn’t we? I don’t do that with just anyone.”

Dan’s soft grin was enough to shove any regrets from Phil’s mind, and he wrapped his arm, already feeling sore and dead from being lain on for so long, tighter around Dan.

“You’ll have to stop being the Panther, of course.”

Dan’s smile fell. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“What?”

“Do I really have to repeat myself?”

“ _How_  could you not be able to…  _not_  be the Panther?” Phil demanded. “Just stop blowing shit up all the time. Stop hurting people.”

“I don’t hurt people,” Dan said petulantly. Phil scoffed. “I don’t!”

“How’d you even—how do you control people, anyway?”

Dan looked uncomfortable. “Do we have to talk about this?”

“Yes!” Phil exclaimed. “My boyfriend’s a crazy, persuasive, evil-genius and I’d like to know how and why, thank you.”

“I was born with it,” Dan muttered. He pulled away from Phil, and the cold morning air suddenly attacked his side, leaving him shivering. Dan sat with his knees pulled up and his arms wrapped around them.

“You’ve been able to persuade people… forever?”

“It’s why I used to be mute,” Dan admitted. “I was scared of it.”

“And you stopped being scared of it,” Phil concluded. “And starting using it.”

These statements, obviously truthful, made Dan go on the defensive. “And what was I supposed to do?” he snapped. He laughed then, a hollow, fake laugh, and continued. “An evil power makes an evil person, it’s not so hard of a conclusion to draw.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Phil pointed out, and Dan glared at him.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he muttered, “to accidentally persuade someone, to realize—too late—that you’ve taken their free will away. It’s much better to do it on purpose. At least then I know what the outcome’s gonna be.”

“Or you could just—make amends,” Phil suggested. “You know, whenever you accidentally persuade someone. Probably the ‘not evil’ route.”

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t understand,” Dan muttered.

“I can try,” Phil said seriously. “But you have to try, too. You have to see things from my side.”

“It’s no use.”

“You’re stupid.”

“I’m  _evil_ ,” Dan said, probably ignoring everything Phil was saying.

“Dan—”

“Did you know I persuaded you once? When we were kids? Well, actually twice.”

“I—what?”

“Yeah. You read my diary,” Dan was grinning, as if telling this story amused him, but it wasn’t a grin Phil was used to. It wasn’t one that Dan usually wore, not even as the Panther, when he was taunting and teasing Phil. “And you found out about my power—surprise! I couldn’t have that, of course, so I made you forget.”

“And… the second time?”

“That very same day,” Dan whispered. “Just for fun. I wanted to see your reaction a second time, so I let you read it again.” Phil was shocked. To think—all those years ago, before the Panther had even existed, he’d  _known_.

“See?” Dan said quietly. “It’s no use.”

“You were  _ten_ ,” Phil snapped, finally. Every ten year old made mistakes, every ten year old did stupid things.

“And now I’m not,” Dan said seriously. “And now I—I—”

“You blow up buildings,” Phil said. And then, after a bit of thought, “Empty ones. And… you hold babies.”

“ _What_?”

“You hold babies. You fight a maniac who's trying to hurt your sworn nemesis.”

“Well, it was never very much fun when I wasn’t fighting the R— _you_.”

“Right. So, you use your powers. You do dumb shit, but—you saved Remy,” Phil said, with a sudden realization. “You saved Remy, all those years ago.”

“Phil,” Dan said, sounding solemn. “Don’t try to make me sound good. You’re only hurting yourself.”

“I’m not  _making_  you sound like anything,” Phil said harshly. “I’m just telling the truth.”

And then he leaned forward, kissing Dan hard on the lips. Dan gasped into the kiss, his hand tentatively coming out, resting gently on his arm, his fingers pressing in… and Phil pulled away. He stood, grabbing his boxers and pulling them on. He did the same with his suit.

“Think about it,” Phil said. “Think about being good.  _Doing_  good.”

“Phil—”

“Dan.” He leaned down once more, kissing him again because  _fuck_ , he couldn’t just  _not_  kiss him. His lips were wonderfully plump, his tongue so wary but still insistent, his hands possessive while still being hesitant. It was so obvious that this— _all of this_ —was brand new to Dan. But he couldn’t just have it—not yet. He would have to work for it.

“We’re over, Dan,” Phil said, as he stood up. The look on Dan’s face, the wonder and hope, was immediately destroyed. “Until you learn to be good, that is.”

And with that, he turned around, yanking open the roof door and descending down the steps. It wasn’t as cool of an exit as diving off the roof and flying away would’ve been, but his ability to do so had been gloriously ruined the previous night.

—

Dan was—possibly—in a state of shock. He’d managed to make it home, at least, but he’d forgotten a few things. Mainly his underwear, which he’d realized not long after. And his legs had still hurt magnificently from that landing he’d done with Phil, as well as his arse—also because of Phil—but Phil had left behind his ruined, soiled, cape, and inside of one of it’s pockets were more healing pills, which Dan had gladly helped himself to.

And for the past, oh, several hours, he’d been laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. In a single night he’d been discovered as the Panther, beaten bloody, lost his virginity, and broken up with. Not to mention the fact that Phil had found out about his power, again, but reacted much better this time.

Instead of looking horrified and scared—well, he’d seemed to think it didn’t even matter. He’d acted like Dan could be good despite that. Sure, Dan had thought so himself as a kid, but hadn’t he proven himself wrong many times since then? There was no way Dan could be the good guy.

With a sigh, Dan reached over to his bedside table, flicking on the radio beside him, trying to fill the silence. He curled around his pillow, huffing out a sigh. It took a while before he even tuned into it, but when he did…

“ _…several have been injured in the activities here tonight, folks, and it’s been confirmed that already two have been killed by this tragic turn of events. Who is this man? Is he in league with the Panther? What is his goal?…”_

The reporter continued, throughout bursts of static, but Dan was already sitting up, his heart pounding. Could it be…?

_“…he seems to have deadly aim, his knives easily seeking their targets…”_

Dan didn’t know what he was doing. But before he knew it, he was decked out in his gear and running to the roof of his building, sprinting through the city as he was used to doing. It didn’t take long to find the commotion, all he had to do was follow the sirens, the screams. He could hear them well enough.

And there he was—the Slayer. Or Carl, as Dan had always known him. He still didn’t understand how Carl knew he was the Panther, or was able to find him so easily, or was so skilled at throwing knives. But he  _did_  know that Phil had almost died because of him and that he was sick of this guy, and that maybe it was all his fault anyway, having silenced him so many years ago.

So Dan jumped from the roofs, his newly healed legs barely aching when he landed on a car mere feet from the Slayer. The crowd screamed, terrified to see him. He felt himself grin—it felt like home.

“Hey knife guy!” Dan called. The Slayer turned to him, and Dan whipped one of Phil’s inventions out of his belt. He fired it, watching as little bug-like inventions shot and clung to him, momentarily sending electricity through his body.

 _“…and it’s unbelievable folks! It seems the Panther is_ fighting _this madman, this—knife guy! Is he on our side, tonight?”_

Again, Dan grinned. Perhaps he could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tried real hard to make this chapter Good, hope you all enjoyed!! next chapter is the epilogue!!! get Ready folks <3


	16. EPILOGUE

**_THEN_  AND NOW**

_His legs dangled over the edge of the building, kicking into open space as he looked down at the city below. It was a view he was sure he’d never get used to. All the bright lights of the city made the streets as light as they would be during day, cars and people bustling about even during the middle of the night. In the city there was always someone awake, always someone with a place to be._

_Maybe it wasn’t something he should enjoy disrupting. The traffic was already bad enough without him making strides to worsen it, but he couldn’t help it. Being evil, wreaking havoc, it was all he was good for. It was the only thing he was truly good **at**. No one else could make people scramble quite like he did. It was amazing, to go to the roofs and see the very chaos he’d caused, people running, cars honking, screams echoing. Maybe it wasn’t what he should be living for, but right then, it was all he had._

_Even still, sometimes he considered letting himself fall._

Dan scrambled through their closet, grumbling under his breath as he looked for his suit. Phil was a horrible cleaner—meaning that he liked things clean and tucked away (unless you were talking about his office), but nothing had an actual designated spot. This meant that each and every time he cleaned, things were put away in different places. There was nothing reliable about it!

Maybe it was embarrassing, how quickly they’d fallen for each other. They were already living together, after only a few months of dating. It’d been rough at first—Dan had pushed Phil pretty far away from himself, pissed off about the whole breaking up with him after losing his virginity shit—but time and patience and many, many apologies had given Dan the strength to forgive him. Meanwhile, Phil had been forgiving Dan himself, for being the Panther, which Dan insisted really wasn’t  _that_  big of a deal anyway.

Remy was still there too, mainly because rent  _was_  pretty pricey. Dan felt inclined to kick her out—she still seemed overly proud of herself for being right about him and the whole Panther business in the first place. She loomed it over Phil’s head at any occasion possible—“Of course pineapple is better on pizza, I was right about Dan, you don’t think I’d be right about this?”

(Which, she wasn’t, okay? Maybe Dan had been the Panther, whatever, but she was just fucking wrong about that.)

_“Panther.”_

_Dan jolted. He hadn’t even heard anyone come on the roof, mainly because he hadn’t been paying attention—he certainly hadn’t been expecting it. His heart was pounding uncomfortably in his chest (how had someone even been able to find him?!) and he stood, spinning to face the unexpected visitor._

_It was a man, tall and wearing an outfit similar to Dan’s own, meaning that it was decked out in an abundance of gadgets. He wore all black and a cape swung from his shoulders. It was immediately apparent that he was, stupidly, here to combat Dan._

_“Who the hell are **you**?” Dan demanded._

“Phil!” Dan called, sticking his head into the hallway. The one good thing was that even though Phil was horrible at cleaning, he at least remembered where he put everything. One time, he’d cleaned their room and when Dan had inquired about his earrings, Phil informed him that he’d put them in the kitchen cabinet.

“But why?” Dan had asked.

“Well, I was already on my way to the kitchen. It just made sense.”

“I think he’s in the kitchen,” Remy said now, poking her head out of her own room. Half of her hair was curly, a curling iron currently pressed against the top of her head, a bunch of it rolled around the heated tube. Dan watched as she pulled it away, her hair falling in thick waves off it. “What do you need?”

“He cleaned again,” Dan sighed. “I’m looking for my suit.”

“Sounds evil.”

“Shut up.”

_”I’m the Raven,” said the man. Dan raised an eyebrow, not that “the Raven” could see it, hidden behind his mask. But it was still important for him to do._

_“Okay, ‘the Raven’,” Dan mocked, “I assume you’re here to try to fight me?”_

_“Of course! You’ve been scaring and hurting people for far too long. You don’t even know what I have in store for you.”_

_Dan hummed. “Alright, fine.”_

_“What?”_

_“I’ll allow you to try to fight me. Go on—give it your best shot.”_

_“You’re not even gonna try to stop me?”_

_“I doubt you’ll be able to hurt me,” Dan laughed, and he even took a step closer to the stranger. A small part of him itched to know what he looked like under that mask, if his face was just as handsome as his body. And it was impossible **not**  to be impressed by it, seeing as his suit was skin tight, just as Dan’s was. It was easiest for moving, really, not to mention good for improving one’s self esteem. People were frightened of Dan, yes, but there was probably the odd person or two looking up at him and thinking,  **damn**. “So go on. Give it a try.”_

The blaring alarms and ambulances and sirens were getting pretty difficult to ignore now, and Dan groaned. Remy snickered, endlessly amused by anything that troubled him.

“Phil!” he yelled. “Hurry  _up_!”

He didn’t know why Phil seemed to think he had time to finish adding the ingredients to the soup he was making. The second the commotion outside had started he’d said something about not wanting his soup to get ruined, about how it needed to simmer for longer, and Dan had just groaned and stomped off to change on his own. Honestly, Phil was growing incredibly lax now that he wasn’t fighting all alone anymore.

Phil still said nothing in response, and annoyed, Dan decided to chance the office. There was always the possibility that Phil had moved it into that monstrosity of a room, which couldn’t be good for Dan’s health. Just stepping into that messy lair gave him a headache.

_The Raven growled, annoyance obvious in every line of his body, and whipped something out of his belt. It looked sharp, and dangerous, and it shot at Dan at impossible speeds. Still, the Raven was too hasty, too eager, too inexperienced—Dan managed to dodge it easily, stepping to the side and watching it zoom past him._

_“Cool,” Dan said, motioning towards the weapon. The Raven’s teeth were bared. “Make it yourself?”_

_The weapon was more than cool, it was useful, and when the Raven pressed a button, the projectile came zooming back, due to some sort of magnetic force, probably. He fired it again, and again Dan dodged, his lips pulling up into a grin. This was **fun**. It was more fun than watching people scream and cry. Here was a person actually trying to fight back, a person apparently idiotic and brave enough to not be afraid of the fact that he could literally persuade them at any time—not that he would. That would be cheating._

_A dance of sorts began, with the Raven firing the blade-like gun and bringing it back over and over again. And apparently he had two, as he pulled another from his belt, and shot one after another. Dan had to be careful, had to make sure the weapons wouldn’t hit him on their way back either._

_Excited and enjoying himself, Dan danced closer to the Raven, eager to see him up close. At one point, he managed to dodge a wild slice of the weapon (not just projectiles, apparently, but also close range! Dan wanted to applaud this man—he was obviously a genius, if inexperienced) and pressed himself against the Raven’s back._

_“You’re good at this,” Dan whispered into his ear, taking the chance to reach around the man and run one hand up his abs. They were **firm**._

_And then he was dodging far, far away, as the Raven spun and growled, slicing both his weapons through the air._

Dan was lucky—he managed to find his suit, though only because he’d tripped over an abandoned wrench and gone flying into a small desk, on top of which his suit sat, folded. Letting out a triumphant noise, he stood with only a modicum of pain and stripped out of his clothes, changing into his gear.

“I’m going out!” Dan shouted through the house, to which Phil  _still_  didn’t respond.

“I’ll tell him!” Remy called back. “Don’t get hurt!”

“I won’t!” Dan scoffed, and then he was climbing out the window, scaling the building so he could see everything from the roof. And  _wow_  the source of all the disruption was obvious. Someone had managed to build a giant fucking robot, and it was shooting fire out of its hands and crushing cars under its feet. Dan groaned. You couldn’t persuade a  _robot_.

He jumped from the roof, swinging his arms a bit wildly to try to get his balance. This was new, the update Phil had added to his shoes—it used some sort of magnetic technology that responded to the metal in the buildings around him, using the steel pipes constantly surrounding him to pull him through the air. The effect was relatively the same as flying, except that he was still getting the hang of it and sometimes found himself accidentally flying upside down, swinging through the air crazily, or smashing into a building and sticking to it. Once he’d gotten stuck to the hood of a car.

“Sorry!” he’d called to the driver, who at that point had been swerving. “New shoe update from the Raven, still a bit temperamental!” The driver nodded understandingly.

After catching his balance, he managed to start running through the air towards the robot. He wouldn’t be able to do anything to it with his voice, so he started digging around in his belt, looking for something good to use. His belt was overly stocked these days, if he was being honest, but the things he and Phil could create together were phenomenal, and it wasn’t really like they were going to limit their genius ideas.

_The Raven surprised Dan, kicking his foot through the air. He was too far away from Dan to even come close to connecting with him, but that was obviously not his intention. Several small sharp objects came flying out of the sole of his shoe, and Dan flipped off the roof in an effort to avoid it. He didn’t let himself fall to the ground, instead catching onto a window sill as he fell and climbing onto it. He crouched in preparation._

_And when the Raven leaned over the edge, looking for him, Dan sprung. He flew into the air and collided with the Raven, sitting on his chest and holding him down._

The robot was built exceedingly well, and Dan had only managed to hack off most of one arm (the crowds cheering him on from below) in the time he’d been fighting it, receiving several injuries of his own while doing so. He could probably be much farther along in this battle if Phil was helping, but instead the asshole was off making fucking soup. If Dan really got in danger, he could always activate his com, tell Phil that he had to save his ass out here, but Dan rarely did that. Even when he sometimes found himself in a sticky situation he tried to wait until the last minute, because the escape was the best part, the part he relished in the most.

Suddenly, the robot struck out, swatting him out of the air. The collision of its metal limb hurt Dan, quickly followed by the feeling of his entire body being flung into the side of a brick building. It would’ve hurt a lot more were it not for the nano-technology inside his suit, protecting him from grievous injuries, but he really would’ve preferred to not be battered around at all.

For a few moments he was falling, his body aching all over, too tired to pick himself back up just yet. He had just decided to wait a bit longer before saving himself when he suddenly felt strong arms around his middle, his body weight becoming nonexistent as he was flown through the air, Phil’s firm stomach pressed against his back.

“Why am I always saving you?” he complained into Dan’s ear. Dan hummed.

“Love you.”

_”Fuck you!” the Raven bit out, struggling under Dan._

_“Seems a bit soon,” Dan commented. “We’ve only just met.”_

_The Raven growled in annoyance beneath him, and Dan smirked at him, enjoying the struggle._

_“This was fun,” he said. “We should do it again some time.”_

_“I’ll beat you,” the Raven said. “I swear I’ll beat you.”_

_“I mean, I could just dispose of you right now,” Dan said, and the Raven stopped struggling underneath him, even seemed to be holding his breath. “But that wouldn’t be fun at all.”_

“We saved the city,” Phil commented, his breath coming harshly. They were seated on a window sill, way high up. Below them crowds were cheering—singing?—and Dan waved down at them, smiling when they started cheering even louder. An abundance of new jobs had sprung up recently, an entire company dedicated to cleaning up after the city’s heroes was created. It seemed that not only were they saving the citizens from vicious monsters and bad guys, they were also saving them from unemployment.

“Don’t we always?” Dan snorted. He leaned into Phil’s shoulder, trying not to let his smile show when Phil wrapped his arm around his shoulders, holding him closer.

“Cocky,” Phil laughed.

_The Raven jumped to his feet the second Dan slid off him, though he didn’t reach for his weapons, likely realizing he was outmatched._

_“I’ll save the city,” he said seriously. “I’ll beat you.”_

_“Cocky,” Dan said. “Especially coming from someone who just got beaten.”_

“Come on,” Phil said. “Let’s go home.

_The Raven spun around, his shoes stomping angrily on the rain-dampened roof. He took off into the air and Dan stared as he left, almost in a state of awe, before turning to go himself._

_He didn’t know it yet, but the Raven really would save the city. And he just might manage to save Dan, too._

~

~

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow!! we're here! at the end!
> 
> i hope you've all enjoyed this! i've had so much fun writing it, i hope that translated through the chapters :']
> 
> this was my first time writing a non-linear story and im actually ?? so proud of it ? i think i did a really good job and im just,, excited about it all and ,, and yeah
> 
> thank you all so much for reading!! i've read every comment, cherished every kudo, sent good vibes to every user,,, i just want you all to know how appreciative i am of you and i hope you all have a good day/night/life ily :']
> 
> (p.s. !! if you find yourself liking my stories and, perhaps, want more, then come back next saturday!! i'll be posting the first chapter to my next fic, "All is Fair", which is phan set in the percy jackson universe! you don't need to have read the books to enjoy it, i'll explain everything like you're new, so i hope you join me for the upcoming fun <3)


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